Bush Ranger, Bush Ranger, what ridge do you roam?

Law dogs come a call’in and you ain’t at home.

Hear the hounds bay’in, ******* your trail.

They’ll slather and snap til you flee Caesar’s pale.


From mountains to prairies to islands in seas

Break ground with a pick, lay line on your knees.

Bring the sweet water from bubbling springs

to bathe green babies and see sprouting wings.


Flowers appear in the late summer sun,

auguring rewards in days almost come.

Layering blossoms build the great buds,

sticky and fragrant with crystals of love.


Late in the evening on a new moon’s fall night,

feet pad through shadows pierced by flashlights.

Not a word is spoken as the plants are shorn,

lightened of the harvest for which they were born


Bush Ranger, Bush Ranger, what ridge do you roam?

Law dogs come a call’in and you ain’t at home.

With shovels and buckets and pockets of seeds

you’re a sowing the wide world with Solomon’s ****.