My name it is Joe Bowers;
I have a brother Ike
I came from old Missoura,
All the way from Pike

I used to know a girl there;
Her name was Sally Black
I asked her if she'd marry me;
She said it was a whack

She said to me, "Joe Bowers
Before we hitch for life,
You'd better get a little home
To take your little wife' '

"Oh Sally, dearest Sally,
Oh Sally, for your sake
I'll go to California
And try and raise a stake"

When I got in that country
I didn't have a red;
I had such wolfish feelings
I wished myself most dead

But the thughts of my dear Sally
Soon made those feelings git,
And whispered hope to Bowers,
I wish I had them yet

At last a letter,
Enough to make me swear,
That Sally married a butcher,
And the butcher had red hair

Before I got through reading,
At length the letter said:
Sally had a baby,
And the baby's head was red

From Folk Songs of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Shellan
Collected from John Vass, Hillsville, Virginia, 1958
@parting @pioneer @infidelity
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