Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Geluid


Koppel


Moeilijkheidsgraad


Accent



interfacetaal

nl

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Cookie beleid   |   Steun   |   FAQ
1
registreren / inloggen
Lyrkit

doneren

5$

Lyrkit

doneren

10$

Lyrkit

doneren

20$

Lyrkit

En/of steun mij op sociaal gebied. netwerken:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Nanci Griffith

Deadwood, South Dakota

 

Deadwood, South Dakota


Well, the good times scratched a laugh
From the lungs of the young men
In a Deadwood saloon, South Dakota afternoon
And the old ones by the door
With their heads on their chests
They told lies about whiskey on a woman's breath

Yes, and some tell the story of young Mickey Free
Who lost an eye to a buck deer in the Tongue River Valley
Oh and some tell the story of California Joe
Who sent word through the Black Hills
There was a mountain of gold

And the gold she lay cold in their pockets
And the sun she sets down on the trees
And they thank the Lord
For the land that they live in
Where the white man does as he pleases

Some flat-shoed fool from the East comes a-running
With some news that he'd read in some St. Joseph paper
And it was "Drinks all around" cause the news he was telling
Was the one they called Crazy
Has been caught and been dealt with

And the Easterner he read the news from the paper
And the old ones moved closer so's they could hear better
"Well, it says here that Crazy Horse
Was killed while trying to escape
And that was some time last September
It don't give the exact date"

And the gold she lay cold in their pockets
And the sun she sets down on the trees
And they thank the Lord
For the land that they live in
Where the white man does as he pleases

Where the white man does as he pleases

Then the talk turned back to whiskey and women
And cold nights on the plains, Lord
And fighting them Indians
And the Easterner he says he'll have one more
'Fore he goes
He gives the paper to the Crow boy
Who sweeps up the floor

And the gold she lay cold in their pockets
And the sun she sets down on the trees
And they thank the Lord
For the land that they live in
Where the white man does as he pleases

Where the white man does as he pleases
Where the white man does as he pleases
As he wants to, as he pleases

klaar

Heb je alle onbekende woorden uit dit nummer toegevoegd?