Chorus:

 

He played Hell Among the Yearlin’s,

It was the only song he knew,

And after six long weeks on the trail with him,

We all knew it too.

He sawed it around the campfire,

Hummed it on the drags,

And when it came his time to scatter salt,

He rattled it on the bags. 

 

……………..

 

He said he came from Old Kentucky,

Down on the Big Sandy river shore.

And his daddy played the fiddle,

When he marched off to war. 

 

Before he died,

He left to John his favorite violin,

But the repertoire that came with it, 

It seems was mighty thin.

 

X

 

His grandpap tried to teach him,

Just like he taught John’s dad,

But it seems he too had passed away,

Before he finished with the lad.

 

Hell Among the Yearlin’s,

Was grand dad’s favorite song,

John learned all the notes by heart,

And played them all day long.

 

X

 

We asked for “Little Joe the Wrangler”,

Or perhaps “Strawberry Roan”,

But John said he never learned any of those.

Didn’t know the tune or tone.

 

We begged him to learn another tune,

Most anything we cried,

But they came out like Hell Among the Yearlin’s

No matter how he tried.

 

X

 

I swear that tune stuck our heads,

It jangled all our nerves,

After a month of hearing it each night,

We made up our own words.

 

And every cowboy on the drive,

Could change up what was said,

With “Hell Among the Yearlin’s”,

Stampeding through our heads.

 

X

 

We’d made it to Red River,

And thought to hold ‘em there,

They’d fatten for a day or two,

And we had time to spare.

 

Some rest and relaxation,

Would surely soothe the men,

And the grass would help our worn out stock,

Who by now were looking thin.

 

X

 

When a rumble in the distance,

Told us what was on the way,

As the storm clouds gathered overhead,

We saddled without delay.

 

Just as we’d expected,

The cattle stirred about,

“Boys, we got to hold ‘em”

I heard the range boss shout.

 

X

 

Just then a streak of lightening,

Fairly split the sky,

The cattle bawled and bellowed,

Wheeled and thundered by.

 

I hung spurs to my cayuse,

And lit out for the leads,

Laying leather to my pony’s flanks,

And praying for more speed.

 

X

 

A thought it came unbidden,

And it plagued my worried mind,

John’s got his hell among the yearlin’s,

That he’s played for all this time.

 

We finally struck the leaders,

And turned them in on the herd,

“Hold ‘em boys! Hold ‘em”,

Were the bosses words.

 

X

 

We circled them and held them,

And got them settled down,

We headed back to the wagon,

And to our grazin’ ground.

 

An awful sight we found there,

The wagon on it’s side,

Ol’ John was crushed beneath it,

And there our fiddler died.

 

X

 

We buried him at day break,

Wrapped in his bedroll in the ground,

With our hats all doffed and in our hands,

We boys all gathered round.

 

But no words came to us,

Seemed we were all struck dumb,

So “Hell Among the Yearlin’s”,

Was the tune that we all hummed.

 

XXX