Front:
"OUT IN WYOMING"
We're out here in old Wyoming,
Where you never have the blues,
Where the bandits steal the jitneys
And the Marshals steal the booze,
Where buildings horn the skyline,
Where the populace is boost
Where they shoot men just for pastime
Where the chickens never roost,
Where the stickup men are wary
And the bullets fall like hail;
Where each pocket has a pistol
And each pistol's good for jail;
Where they always hang the jury,
Where they never hang a man
If you call a man a liar, you
Get home the best you can;
Where you get up in the morning
In a world of snow and sleet
And you come home in the evening
Suffocating in the heat;
Where the jitneys whiz about you
And the street cars barely creep;
Where the burglars pick your pockets
While you "lay me down to sleep"
Where the bulldogs all have rabies,
And the. rabbits they have fleas
Where the big girls, like the wee ones,
Wear their dresses to their knees;
Where you whist out in the morning
Just to give your health a chance,
Say "Howdy" to some fellow who
Sheets big holes in your pants;
Where the wise owls are afraid to hoot
And birds don't dare to sing,
For it's hell out in Wyoming,
Where they all shoot on the wing.
Photos Copyrighted by R. R. DOUBLEDAY, Cheyenne, Wyo.
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