Fergus County Jail

I rolled into Lodgepole on a frosty winter day
Going home from the California gold
In the tavern of the town, while the sun was going down
I tried to drive away the cold.
Rye whiskey to drive away the cold

In the corner of the room sat a man with hardened eyes,
And he called for to drink another round.
But the whiskey came too slow, and he rose as if to go
But he knocked the aging barkeep down.
He pistol whipped that poor man to the ground.

CHORUS

I wish that I was home in old Virginia on the farm
The whippoorwill a-singing on the rail
But the wind is blowing cold cross the high Montana plains
And I’m lying in the Fergus county jail.

Well the stranger turned to me with the pistol in his hand
And I swear I saw the hammer coming down.
But the next thing that I knew, through a haze of smoky blue
He was lying still upon the ground,
And the lawman of the town was coming round.

So I’m lying here tonight, with the shackles on my feet,
And the winter wind is howling past the moon.
I know I could have run instead of fighting with a gun,
But I’m much too young to die this soon.
This night in Fergus County’s been my doom.