THE SPIRES OF THE HIGHEST PEAKS
ARE A LONELY PLACE TO DWELL
BUT BETTER THEIR IN MY MIND
THAN SOME OF THE DEEPER PITS OF HELL
SO HIGH I CLIMB GROPING
FOR ANY CREVICE TO GET MY GRIP
CUZ IFN I FALL ITS TO HELL WITH ME
IN THAT RAVENOUS BOILIN\’ PIT
WHILST I’M ON THE SUBJECT
OF THINGS AGOIN TO HELL
IT REMINDS ME OF A STORY
AN OLD MAN FORBID ME TO TELL
OF A MULE NAMED EMILY
LADDEN WITH HER MASTERS TRUST
AND THE CLIFF SHE FELL OVER
MUCH TO HIS DISGUST
JUST PAST THE CROOK IN THE TRAIL
AND NOT MUCH FURTHER TO GO
ACROSS THE WHITESIDES BRIDGE
TO A SLIDE STILL COVERED IN SNOW
EMILY LOST HER FOOTING THERE
AND AGAINST ALL CAL’S BEST WISHES
ASS OVER TEAKETTLE
DOWN THAT MOUNTAIN
SHE FELL WITH HER STOVE AND DISHES
ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-TWO FEET
DOWN THAT MOUNTAIN SLIDE
THERE LAY A MULE NAMED EMILY
WITH A COOKSTOVE ON HER SIDE
THE ONLIEST TIME I HEARD HIM CUSS
THRU ALL THE TIMES WE MIXED
HE LOOKED ME SQUARE IN THE EYE
AND SAID “ROB I’M IN ONE HELL’VA FIX
THE LITTLE WOMANS PRIDE AND JOY
THE APPLE OF HER EYE
NOW LAYS DEEP, IN A GORGE COVERED WITH SNOW
AND A COOKSTOVE ON HER SIDE
WITH THREE HUNDERT FEET OF MANILLA ROPE
A BREECHING AND A RUCKSACK
WE FASHIONED A PULLEY TO A COUPLE OF POLES
AND YARDED OLE EMILY BACK
THE STOVE NOW SCRATCHED AND MISSING A GRATE
AND THE BISCUIT OVEN BENT
THE LITTLE WOMANS PRIDE AND JOY
MUST HAVE BEEN HEAVEN SENT
EMILY WAS ALL THEY HAD
AS GOOD AS MULES GO
AND I’LL NEVER FORGET
THE DREADFUL DAY
CAL LOST HIS ASS IN THE SNOW
