First my favorite, "Hellbound Train":

Hellbound Train

A cowboy lay on a bar-room floor.
He'd drank so much couldn't drink no more.
He fell asleep with a troubled brain;
dreamed he rode on a hell-bound train.

The engine with murderous blood was damp
and brilliantly lit by a brimstone lamp.
A demon for fuel was shoveling bones.
The furnace rang with a thousand groans.

The boiler was filled to the brim with beer.
The Devil himself was the engineer.
Passengers were in chains, some young, some hags,
rich men in silks, beggers in rags.

The train rushed on at an awful pace.
Sulpherous fumes scorched each hand and face.
Darker and darker the country grew
as faster and faster the engine flew.

Louder and louder thunder crashed,
brighter and brighter lightning flashed.
Hotter and hotter the air became
till the clothes were burnt from each quivvering frame.

Out of the distance rose a yell,
"Ha! Ha!" said the Devil. "We're near to Hell."
The passengers all shrieked with pain
and begged the devil to stop the train.

He capered about and danced with glee,
laughed and joked at their misery.
"My faithful friends, you've done the work.
The Devil never can a favor shirk!

"You've bullied the weak, robbed the poor,
turned the starving from your door;
laid up gold where destruction burns like fire
and never ignored a single desire.

"You've scorned justice and corruption sown,
trampled the laws of nature down;
drunk, rioted, cheated, plundered in vain,
all that's mocking God on a Hell-born train!

"You've paid full fare, I'll carry you yet.
It's only right you should get what you get.
The laborer always expects his pay,
so I'll land you safe where the fire don't delay.

"You're gonna die screamin' in flames that roar
and demons torment you forever more."
The cowboy woke with an anguished cry,
his clothes wet with sweat, his hair standing high.

Speaking of Hell...

Hell in Texas

The devil I'm told in Hell was chained
a thousand years there he remained.
He never complained, he never groaned,
just made up his mind to make a Hell of his own.
A place to torment the souls of men
where he wasn't chained like a prisoner in a pen;
he asked the Lord if he had on hand
anything left after makin' the land.

The Devil was given permission one day
to pick out land where he'd like to stay.
He hunted around a month or more
fussed and fumed and mostly swore.
Eventually without much objection
he chose to stay and work on Texas;
he saw there were still improvements to make,
felt his own reputation might be at stake.

In order to get it off his hands,
the Lord promised the Devil he'd water the land.
He had some water, rather the dregs,
of some stuff left over smellin' like bad eggs.
The deal was closed, the deal was given.
The Lord went back to his home in Heaven.
The Devil said, "I've all I need
to make a good Hell," he sure did succeed.

He put thorns on all the trees.
Mixed up the sand with a million fleas.
Scattered tarantulas all over the roads.
Put thorns on cactus and on toads.
The rattlesnakes bite you, the scorpions sting.
The mosquitos surround you with buzzing wings.
The sand-burrs rule, so do the ants.
If you sit down you need shoes on your pants.

The heat in the summer is one hundred and ten,
not too hot for the Devil but too hot for men.
The wild boar roams through the wild chaparral,
it's a hell of a place he picked for a hell.
Legions of skunks with lound, loud smells
perfume the bleak country he loves so well.
He sanded the rivers till they were dry
and poisoned them all with alkali.

Then he spread his wings and away he flew,
vanished forever in a blaze of blue.
Now, no doubt in some corner of hell
he gloats over the work he done so well.
He swears it never can be beat
for thorns, tarantulas, snakes and heat.
With all his plans carried out so well,
he's certain he created a perfect Hell.

Lily of the West

I went down to Louisville, some to find,
I met a girl from Lexington, captured my mind.
Her hair was full of diamonds, a star on her chest,
they called her sweet Mary, the Lily ofthe West.

She had rings on every finger, brought from distant lands.
Ten thousand hundred dollars she had on hand.
Was enough to lure any king, the way she'd dress.
And I called her my sweet Mary, the Lily of the West.

I loved her a long time, I thought I had her heart.
Then she turned her back to me so I said we'd part.
But I never shall forget the day she laid on my chest
and I talked with my sweet Mary, the Lily of the West.

One day I was a walking down by a shady grove.
I saw a man from Lexington walking with my love.
He sung a song so sweetly, my very soul was depressed.
He called her sweet Mary, the Lily of the West.

I rushed him, rifle on my shoulder, dagger in my hand,
I tore away my true love and told him to take his stand.
I was mad and desperate, I quickly pierced his chest
for talking to my Mary, the Lily of the West.

They took me to the Justice, he only heard my plea.
A jury found me innocent, the judges set me free.
But she so decieved them, so beautifully dressed,
still far out shining Venus, the Lily of the West.

Since then I have travelled the whole country through.
I'll travel back through Louisville to find the one I loved so true.
Although she almost stole my freedom, deprived me of all rest,
I still love none but Mary, the Lily of the West.

The Wild Rippling Water

Reminiscant of Old World ballads, this song has cousins in cowboy lore that turn the tables, with the woman moving on to a better situation than the man, (the man wins here).

I remember hearing a vaguely similar one, in theme, from Ireland but don't recall the name. In its' refrain a man is home, 'rocking the cradle, the child not his own' while his wife is out having fun. Like this one, it warns others not to fall into the same fate.

As I was out walking, rambling one day,
I spied a fair couple coming my way.
One was a cowboy, handsome and brave.
The other a lady, a beauty and maid.
The other a lady, beauty and maid.

He said, "Where are you going, pretty girl?"
"Down by the river, where dark eddies whirl,
to see the wild water, hear the nightengale sing,
see the wild rippling water, hear the nightengale sing."

The'd been gone an hour or so
when he pulled out his fiddle and bow.
He tuned up his fiddle all on a high string,
and played a tune over and over again,
played at tune over and over again.

"Now," said the cowboy, "I should have been gone."
"No, no," said the maid, "just play one more song.
I'd rather hear the fiddle played on one string
than to see the wild water, hear the nightengale sing,
see the wild rippling water, hear the nightengale sing."

She said, "Beautiful cowboy, will you marry me?"
"No, no, pretty lady, that never can be.
I've a wife in Arizona, quite enough is she,
one wife and one ranch are plenty for me.
One wife and one ranch are plenty for me."

"I'm goin' to Mexico, stay there one year,
drink lots of wine, drink lots of beer.
But if I ever come back it will be to in the spring
to see the wild water, hear the nightengale sing.
See the wild rippling water, hear the nigthengale sing."

All you young ladies take warning from me,
never place your affections in cowboy's so free;
he'll go away and leave you as this one left me,
rocking the cradle singing, "Bye, oh baby,"
rocking the cradle singing, "Bye, oh baby."

Another warning to women is found in this one:

Johnny Cake

All young ladies pay attention to my voice,
don't fall in love with the wild west boys.
If you do, your fortune will be
johnny cake, hominy and assafras tea.

Leave him be if he comes to you dressed
in just an old black shirt without a vest.
He'll bring along his own chair
and ask your Daddy if he's killed a bear.

He'll take you out on a jet black hill,
take you there much against your will.
Then leave you to perish on the plains.
That's the way out on the range.

Oh you'll live in a cabin with a huge log wall
and not a window in it at all,
a sandstone chimney and a punch board floor,
a clap board roof and a button-hole door.

He'll leave and get in fights in Mexico,
wasn't for the girls he wouldn't go.
When it turns bad and blood is shed,
those girls turn back but he'll go ahead.

He'll come back and he'll say as he sits down,
is, "Woman, your johnny cake is baked too brown."
Some gets little and some gets none,
and him always runnin' off to some other one.

A related rather strange song depicts an even more dismal scene of family life in the west:

When I Went A-Courtin'

When I went a-courtin, didn't know where to go,
I went to a mans' house near the Alamo.
Kids' cryin' for bread, the old folks gone,
girls gone mad and their hair not combed.
The girls were mad and their hair not combed.

Old dirty clothes was hangin' on a loom.
House hadn't been swept, wasn't no broom.
There was a long-tailed coat greased all around
and an old leather hat with a hole in the crown,
an old leather hat with a hole in the crown.

I stayed so long I was ashamed.
Over and over they asked my name.
I told them it was Johnny, they seemed satisfied.
Then giggled and laughed till they both cried,
they giggled and laughed till they both cried.

They asked me to dinner, thought it was to eat.
First thing they gave me a hunk of meat
cooked half done and tough as a moll,
on the side old corn meal baked bran and all,
on the side old corn meal baked bran and all.

Gave me an old dull knife without a fork,
I sawed an sawed, couldn't cut that pork.
I kept on sawin' till it fell on the floor,
I up with my foot and kicked it out the door.
I up with my foot and kicked it out the door.

Then in came the old man carryin' a gun.
The girls said, "Johnny, you'd better run."
I stood and fought him brave as a bear,
tangled my fingers in the old man's hair.
I tangled my fingers in the old man's hair.

A tale of a Mexican womans' revenge on a cowboy about to do her wrong:

Juanita

"Juanita, I'm leaving you
I've come to say goodbye."
He said standing in the ruins
where amber shadows lie.

"Why cry my darling Juanita?
Don't cry because I go."
"But if you really love me,
you would never, never go."

"Love you? Yes, Juanita,
and love do not cry."
"But if you really love me,
you would never say goodbye."

"I didn't think my attention
would begin to capture your heart.
I'm promised to someone
in my country, we must part."

"One more kiss?" "I'll give you fifty."
Round her his arms entwined.
They were standing in the ruins
hidden by clustered vines.

Haunting the crumbling ruins
Juanita walks all alone.
In her eyes no teardrops glisten.
From her all love has flown.

Tying Knots in the Devil's Tail

Written by Gail Gardner in 1917 this song worked its' way into oral tradition and numerous variants have evolved.

It started in a Kaintucky bar
at the head of whiskey row.
Two cowboys wound up by the Depot House
some forty drinks below.

They set up and turned around
then went the other way.
I tell you the God-forsaken truth
those two got stewed that day.

They was a-ridin' back to camp,
packin' a pretty good load,
when who'd they meet but the Devil himself
a-prancin'down the road.

He sez, "You ornery cowboys
you'd better hunt yer holes
I've come up from Hell's Rim Rock
to gather up your souls.

One of 'em sez, "Devil be damned,
we's kinda tight
but you ain't a gatherin' no cowboy souls
without some kind of fight.

The other he took up his rope
swang her straight and true
lapped it on to the Devil's horns
and that's the honest truth.

They stretched him out and tailed him down
while the irons was a-gettin' hot.
They cropped and swaller-forked his eares
then branded him up a lot.

They pruned him with a de-hornin' saw
an knotted his tail for a joke.
They rode off and left him there
tied to a Black-Jack oak.

If you're ever up in Kaintuck
an you hear one Hell of a wail,
you can bet it's the Devil bellerin
'bout them knots in his tail.

Old Paint

Good-bye fair ladies, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,
Good-bye fair ladies, I'm a-leavin' Cheyenne,
Good-bye my little Annie, my pony won't stand.

Chorus:

Old Paint, Old Paint, I'm a leavin' Cheyenne,
Good-bye Old-Paint, I'm leavin' Cheyenne,
my foots in the stirrup, my pony won't stand.

I had two daughters and a song,
one went to Denver, anotehr went wrong.
My wife, she died in a barroom fight,
and still I sing from morning to night.

Chorus

In the middle of the ocean there grows a green tree,
I never was false to the girl who loved me
the last time I saw her was in teh late fall,
she was riding Old Paint and a-leadin' Old Ball.

Chorus

When I die take my saddle down from the wall,
put it on Old Paint, lead him from the stall;
tie my bones to his back, turn us facin' the West
and we'll ride on the prarie that we've loved best.

Chorus