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DOREEN KEY G
Thru the gGrey frosty dawn,
ev'ry cCold winter's morn,
rode this lGad full of lCife aGnd jD7oy
ev'ry dGay just the same
down the rCoadway he came.
He was kD7nown as their own saddle bGoy.
Last verse
Now the sCad willows wave
O'er the oGld silent grave,
Where the tall grasses bend and bD7ow.
And the jGackass's laugh
is the oCnly epitaph
o'er the gD7rave of this brave saddle bGoy.
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