From the recording New Western Trail Songs
Nine More Inches
On high prairies where the wind blows insane
And the cold blue water winds through a snowy plain.
The sagebrush dancing and shaking in the gale
Filling up the evening with the sweetness of its smell.
Tied and knotted like a muleskinners’ lead
There’s storm clouds in the distance building speed.
And they roll and they tumble and come across the sky
Find a cove dear brother, the tempest’s gonna fly.
And the coyote’s sleepin’ in an old deep hole
The storm’s getting ready now to take its toll.
It’s damn sure gonna be a sight to see
Nine more inches down on ole Main Street.
Now the old folks say that back in 1949
Was a long, cold storm when the sun refused to shine.
The snow so deep and thick as London fog
You could step over phone lines like you’d step over a log.
The people in the houses buried deep beneath the snow
Dug tunnels from their doorways: up and out they had to go.
If the cattle didn’t starve or freeze up where they’d lie,
They’d die of suffocation noses pointed at the sky.