I rode across a valley range

I hadn't seen for years.

The trail was all so spoilt and strange

It nearly fetched the tears.

I had to let ten fences down

(The fussy lanes ran wrong)

And each new line would make me frown

And hum a mournin' song.

Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!

Hear 'em stretchin' of the wire!

The nester brand is on the land;

I reckon I'll retire,

While progress toots her brassy horn

And makes her motor buzz,

I thank the Lord I wasn't born

No later than I was.

'Twas good to live when all the sod,

Without no fence nor fuss,

Belonged in pardnership to God,

The Gover'ment and us.

With skyline bounds from east to west

And room to go and come,

I loved my fellow man the best

When he was scattered some.

Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!

Close and closer cramps the wire.

There's hardly play to back away

And call a man a liar.

Their house has locks on every door;

Their land is in a crate.

These ain't the plains of God no more,

They're only real estate.

There's land where yet no ditchers dig

Nor cranks experiment;

It's only lovely, free and big

And isn't worth a cent.

I pray that them who come to spoil

May wait till I am dead

Before they foul that blessed soil

With fence and cabbage head.

Yet it's squeak! squeak! squeak!

Far and farther crawls the wire.

To crowd and pinch another inch

Is all their heart's desire.

The world is overstocked with men

And some will see the day

When each must keep his little pen,

But I'll be far away.

When my old soul hunts range and rest

Beyond the last divide,

Just plant me in some stretch of West

That's sunny, lone and wide.

Let cattle rub my tombstone down

And coyotes mourn their kin,

Let hawses paw and tromp the moun'

But don't you fence it in!

Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!

And they pen the land with wire.

They figure fence and copper cents

Where we laughed 'round the fire.

Job cussed his birthday, night and morn.

In his old land of Uz,

But I'm just glad I wasn't born

No later than I was!