Paint Your Wagon

Gold

Gold

Gold

Gold

Gold

Got a dream, boy

Got a song

Paint your wagon

And come along

Where am I goin'? I don't know

Where am I headin'? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

When will I be there? I don't know

When will I get there? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

Got a dream, boy

Got a song

Paint your wagon

Et allons-y

Ou nous allons? Je ne sais pas

Got a dream, boy

Got a song

Paint your wagon

And come along

Where am I goin'? I don't know

When will I be there? I ain't certain

What will I get? I ain't equipped to say

But who gives a damn?

Who gives a damn?

Who gives a damn?

We're on our way

Where am I goin'? I don't know

Where am I headin'? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

When will I be there? I don't know

When will I get there? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

Where am I goin'? I don't know

Where am I headin'? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

When will I be there? I don't know

When will I get there? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

Got a dream, boy

Got a song

Paint your wagon

And come along

Where am I goin'? I don't know

When will I be there? I ain't certain

What will I get? I ain't equipped to say

But who gives a damn?

Who gives a damn?

We're...

Farmers.

Let's go.

Whoa! Hold it.

There it is!

Get over here.

Now stop it!

Hello!

Is they...

Dead?

They'd...

Better be...

'Cause I'm gonna bury 'em!

Let's go.

Aah... aah...

Aah...

My brother.

My brother.

He's dead.

Shoulder and leg is pretty badly broken.

You a doctor?

Horse doctor, but bones is bones.

Also a blacksmith.

Bring brother.

Little more in the center.

Oh, God...

We pass on to You

The body and soul

of this nameless peckerhead.

Well, at least he went quick,

And he ain't going to have to suffer

Through the scurvy, the dysentery,

The spotted fever, the cholera, or the ague,

Not to mention them other maladies

Contracted in a consort with low women,

Or waste years digging in the dirt

And finding dirt like I've been doing.

Talk about him!

You want to be next?

And seeing how he survived all that,

He could have been hit by timber,

Fall down a shaft, starved,

Get murdered,

Or committed suicide on Christmas Eve.

What I'm saying, God, is,

You don't have no pity for your children

When they living,

So that's why we're asking you

To be a little kinder to 'em when they dead.

So, with all due reverence, Lord,

We pass on to You

This corncracker's body and soul

To take him and to keep him...

I stake this claim

For me and my new pardner over there,

Whatever the hell his name is...

Forever and ever.

Amen.

Pull him up.

Got a dream, boy

Got a song

Paint your wagon

And come along

Where am I goin'? I don't know

Where am I headin'? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

When will I be there? I don't know

When will I get there? I ain't certain

All that I know is I am on my way

Got a dream, boy

Got a song

Paint your wagon

And come along

Where am I goin'? I don't know

When will I be there? I ain't certain

What will I get? I ain't equipped to say-ay

But who gives a damn?

Who gives a damn?

We're on our way

I still see Elisa

She keeps on returning

As breathless

And young

As ever

I still hear Elisa

And still feel a yearning

To hold her against me again

Her heart was made of holidays

Her smile was made of dawn

Her laughter was an April song

That echoes on and on

Since I saw Elisa

The shadows are falling

And winter is calling above

But I still see Elisa

Whenever I dream

Of love

Elisa... that the name of your girl?

Yeah.

Oh, I found this.

I thought it might make a good crutch for you

Now that you seem to be getting around pretty good.

Thanks.

You know,

It just don't seem right, Mr. Rumson...

You doing all the work and me getting half.

I mean, it's your mule,

Your tools and all.

Well, it was your brother.

Well...

Where I come from, Mr. Rumson,

We're cautious of strangers

Who talk in an easy manner.

Oh, you got me down

For some kind of low scuff from New Orleans, hmm?

Sell you patent medicine with one hand,

Pinch your purse with the other?

Matter of fact, that's kind of what I was thinking.

As a matter of fact, pardner, you're right,

But I ain't yet sunk to horse stealing.

Oh, I've salted claims, yeah.

I've sold whiskey to Injuns.

Once, a man in walla walla come at me with a gun,

And I killed him.

I can't think of one commandment

I ain't shattered regular.

I never did fancy my mother and father,

Let alone respect them or honor them,

And I have coveted my neighbor's wife...

Whenever I had a neighbor

And whenever he had a wife.

Mm-mmm.

And I gamble, and I cheat at cards,

But there is one thing I do not do.

I ain't never gulled a pardner.

The one sacred thing,

Even to low scuff like me,

Is a man's pardner.

2 pennyweight short of 4 ounces.

Now you pass me your pouch.

I'll pour your share.

And, pardner,

I'll swap pouches with you anytime you say.

Well...

I meant no offense, Mr. Rumson,

And I appreciate you saving my life and all.

You just want to know what's expected of you in return.

That's right.