Historical Folk Lyrics
"The Lane County Bachelor"

My name is Frank Bolar, an ol' bachelor I am,
I'm keeping ol' bach on an elegant plan;
You'll find me out West in the County of Lane
Starving to death on a government claim.
My house it is built of the natural soil,
The walls are erected according to Hoyle;
The roof has no pitch but is level and plain,
And I always get wet when it happens to rain.

CHORUS NO. I :
But hurrah for Lane County, the land of the free,
The home of the grasshopper, bedbug, and flea;
I'll sing loud her praises, and boast of her fame,
While starving to death on my government claim.

My clothes they are ragged, my language is rough,
My bread is case-hardened, both solid and tough;
The dough it is scattered all over the room,
And the floor would get scared at the sight of a broom.
My dishes are dirty and some in the bed,
Covered with sorghum and government bread;
But I have a good time, and live at my ease,
On common sap-sorghum, old bacon and grease.

CHORUS NO. 2:
But hurray for Lane County, the land of the West,
Where the farmers and laborers are always at rest;
Where you've nothing to do but sweetly remain,
And starve like a man on your government claim.

How happy am I when I crawl into bed
And a rattlesnake rattles his tail at my head;
And the gay little centipede, void of all fear,
Crawls over my pillow and into my ear;
And the nice little bedbug, so cheerful and bright,
Keeps me a-scratching full half of the night;
And the gay little flea with toes sharp as a tack,
Plays, "Why don't you catch me?" all over my back.

CHORUS NO. 3:
But hurrah for Lane County, where blizzards arise,
Where the winds never cease and the flea never dies;
Where the sun is so hot if in it you remain
'Twill burn you quite black on your government claim.

How happy am I on my government claim
Where I've nothing to lose and nothing to gain;
Nothing to eat, and nothing to wear,
Nothing from nothing is honest and square.
But here I am stuck, and here I must stay,
My money's all gone and I can't get away;
There's nothing will make a man hard and profane
Like starving to death on a government claim.

CHORUS NO. 4:
Then come to Lane County, there's room for you all,
Where the winds never cease and the rains never fall;
Come join in the chorus and boast of her fame,
While starving to death on your government claim.

Now don't get discouraged, you poor hungry men,
We're all here as free as a pig in a pen.
Just stick to your homestead and battle your fleas,
And look to your Maker to send you a breeze.
Now a word to claim-holders who are bound for to stay,
You may chew your hard-tack till you're toothless and gray;
But as for me, I'll no longer remain
And starve like a dog on my government claim.

CHORUS NO, 5:
Then farewell to Lane County, farewell to the West,
I'll travel back east to the girl I love best;
I'll stop in Missouri and get me a wife,
And live on corn dodgers the rest of my life.