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While drivin' a herd of cattle out in old Nebraska way |
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Headin' east at Broken Bow one hot September day |
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Tryin' to get to Omaha, we hoped to find a buyer |
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We never counted in the odds of a western prairie fire |
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A hot south wind was blowin' and the air was gettin' dry |
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Somethin' far away was spellin' trouble in the sky |
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Comin' closer was a sound that topped the devil's choir |
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Then we knew we had to race a raging prairie fire |
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When all at once a flame is seen a-lickin' at the sky |
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And every heart is quicker and there's fear in every eye |
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We'd just one chance to get away for there's no place to hide |
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Gotta reach the river Platte, one inch deep and one mile wide |
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The herd is gettin' tired but we've got no time to rest |
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I try to clear the red dust that is gatherin' in my chest |
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From ridin' tail on a thousand head with the weather gettin' dry |
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The black cloud in the west is warning ride, ride, ride |
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The roarin' heat is closer ashes fallin' by our side |
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And every breeze is burnin' singin' with its warnin' cry |
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We've got to reach the river but it's still ten miles or more |
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And close behind us we can hear that wind infernal roar |
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But fate had other plans for we lost that fatal race |
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We lost for neither man nor beast could long keep up the pace |
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The mighty Platte subdued its rage but none were there to rest |
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We did our best to get away but only I am left |
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Now, on the blackened prairie far as the eye can see |
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The grim remains are there to show that God rules you and me |
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Just one he left to tell the tale just one was his desire |
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We lost our herd and thirty men to a raging prairie fire |
