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Show HITTING THE GRIT Out here in the desert, my burro an' me Is plodding along in the sand; There's places a heap we'd a lot ruther be, Than here in this blisterin' land. We're mouchin' along through drifts ankle-deep; The sun it is hotter than sin; My pard he ain't seemin' t' mind it a heap I'm hittln' the grit with a grin. The buzzards is circlin' 'round' overhead, over-head, A-planuin' the feast they would git, If me an' my borro would sudden drap dead, An' they wr uld come down an' ban-quit! ban-quit! But me an' my pard, we is wise to their game An' knows they ain't goin' t' win He's watchin' their moves, an I'm do-in' do-in' the same An' hittin' the grit with a grin. This game o' prospectin' It ain't any cinch, Out here in this desolate land; An' sometimes a feller gits caught In a pinch, An' never gits outa the sand. Thr glistenin' bones here an' there tell ihe tale O them that "lost out," an' "cashed The men that went down on the o-l' desert trail ' An' hittin' the grit with a grin. |