The Sharps.50 calibre rifle was the rifle of choice for the buffalo hunters

And so the .50 sang her song and a buffalo hit the ground
To lay there with a broken back groaning in her pain
No, the fifty didn't miss, that shot was made with care
The buffalo herd didn't understand and wouldn't leave her there
So the shooter in his stand now could shoot at will
And every time the fifty sang it was another ****
The marksman now in his element, for with ever beast that fell
Was another dollar for the skin, the meat abandoned there

The Indian gazed upon this sight, horror in his eyes
For every time the fifty sang another Indian died
You see the Indians only ever took enough for the survival of the tribe
Starvation beckoned as winter called each time a buffalo died
No warming hides now for a home to build against the winter cold
Starvation and desease would come, bringing death upon the tribes

But the white men didn't care, they saw only dollar signs
Every time the fifty sang and another buffalo died