I rolled into Lodge pole on a frosty winter day
On my way from the California Gold
In the tavern of the town, while the sun was going down
I Tried to drive away the cold.  Rye whiskey to drive away the cold

In the corner of the room sat a man with hardened eyes
and he called for to drink another round
But the whiskey came too slow, and he rose as if to go
But he knocked the aged barkeep down
He pistol whipped that poor man to the ground

Chorus
I wish that I was home in old Virginia on the farm
The Whippoorwill a-singin' on the rail
But the wind is blowing cold across the high Montana plains
And I'm lying in the Fergus County Jail

The stranger turned to me with the pistol in his hand
and I swear I saw the hammer coming down
The next thing that I knew, through a haze of smoky blue
He was lying still upon the ground
And the lawman of the town was coming round

So I'm lying here tonight with the shackles on my feet
and the winter wind is howling past the moon
I know I could have run instead of fighting with a gun
I'm much too young to die this soon
This night in Fergus County's been my doom

Chorus