The Tune:

Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day.

Chorus:
Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day.

How often at night, when the heavens are bright
With the light from the glittering stars
I've stood there amazed, and asked, as I gazed,
If their glory exceeds that of ours.

Chorus

The air is so pure, and the zephyrs so free
And the breezes so balmy and light
I would not exchange my home on the range
For all the cities so bright.

Chorus

The Red man was pressed from this part of the west,
He's likely no more to return,
To the banks of the Red River where seldom if ever
Their flickering campfires burn.

Chorus

Oh, I love these wild flowers in this dear land of ours,
The curlew I love to hear cry,
And I love the white rocks and the antelope flocks,
That graze on the mountain slopes high.

Chorus

Oh give me a land where the bright diamond sand,
Flows leisurely down in the stream;
Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along,
Like a maid in a heavenly dream.

Chorus

How often at night, when the heavens are bright,
With the light from the glittering stars,
Have I stood there amazed, and asked as I gaze,
If their glory exceeds that of ours.
Chorus

Yes, give me the gleam of a swift mountain stream,
And the place no hurricanes blow.
Oh, give me the park where the prairie dogs bark,
And the mountains all covered with snow.
Chorus

Oh, give me the hills and the ring of the drills,
And the rich silver ore in the ground.
Yes, give me the gulch where the miners can sluice,
And the bright yellow gold can be found.
Chorus

Oh, give me the mine where the prospectors find
the gold in its own native land,
And the hot springs below, where the sick people go,
And camp on the banks of the Grand.
Chorus

Oh, give me the steed and the gun that I need
To shoot game from my own cabin home.
Then give me the camp where the fire is a lamp,
And the wild rocky mountains to roam.
Chorus

Yes, give me the home where the prospectors roam.
Their business is always alive
In those wild western hills, midst the ring of the drills.
Oh, let me live there ‘till I die.
Chorus