Come all you jolly skinners, and listen to my song
There are not many verses, it will not detain you long:
It's concerning some young fellows who did agree to go
And spend one summer pleasantly of the range of the buffalo

'Twas in the town of Jacksboro in the spring of Sev'nty three
A man by the name of Crego came stepping up to me
Saying, "How do you do, young fellow, and how would you like to go
And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?"

"It's me being out of employment, this to Crego I did say:
"This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay
But if you will pay good wages and transportation, too
I think, sir, I will go with you to the range of the buffalo."

"Yes, I will pay good wages, give transportation, too
Provided you will go with me and stay the summer through:
But if you should grow homesick, come back to Jackboro
I won't pay transportation from the range of the buffalo."

It's now our outfit was complete - seven able-bodied men
With navy six and needle gun - our troubles did begin:
Our way it was a pleasant one, the route we had to go
Until we crossed Pease River on the range of the buffalo

It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun
The first dam tail I went to rip, Christ! How I cut my thumb!
While skinning the dam old stinkers our lives they had no show
For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo

He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself most dead
It was old jerked beef, croton coffee and sour bread
Pease River's as salty as hell fire, the water I could never go -
O God! I wished I had never come to the range of the buffalo

Our meat it was buffalo hump and iron wedge bread
And all we had to sleep on was a buffalo robe for a bed:
The fleas and graybacks worked on us, O boys, it was not slow
I'll tell you there's no worse hell on earth than the range of the buffalo

Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls were cased with steel
And the hardships of that summer would nearly make us reel
While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they had no show
For the Indians waited to pick us off on the Hills of Mexico

The season being near over, old Grego he did say
The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day
We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no go -
We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo

Oh, it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward we are bound
No more in that hell-fired country shall ever be found
Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go
For God's forsaken the buffalo range and the damned old buffalo