Western Suite

Lyrics to Three Related Songs

 

Clouds are forming in the east;

Blackened skies suggest no peace.

Thunder rumbles rock the ground;

Powder burns; the bullets pound.

Curses angry start a flight;

Riders raiding in the night.

 

Fires are raging; homes are burned;

Hopes are crushed; the saints are spurned.

It's America, we should be free,

But the people run, they've got to flee

to a new land under western skies;

to a new land in the mountains high

to a new land.

 

Homes are sold; the mountains are sure;

We will slice that prairie floor

With our wagon wheels,

With our handcart wheels.

We know how it feels to go

 

Tripping along with Company B;

Morning crossed o'er the Mississippi.

Well the river is tame in the winter time;

Sugar Creek camp is down the line.

February in '46,

Well we left Nauvoo in an awful fix.

 

Sugar Creek tickle.  Sugar Creek tickle.

Grab you gal and stamp your feet;

This bouncing dance just can't be beat.

Hold your honey then spin her around;

Laugh and sing, make a happy sound.

 

Times were bitter; we felt the cold;

West keeps calling but the winter is old.

And the storms were raw in April and May;

Kept us huddled up another day.

Tears were flowing, then Brigham said,

"Dance the Sugar Creek tickle and get out of bed."

 

Sugar Creek tickle.  Sugar Creek tickle.

Grab you gal and stamp your feet;

This bouncing dance just can't be beat.

Hold your honey then spin her around;

Laugh and sing, make a happy sound.

 

Cattle start pulling in the early light;

To make twelve miles is mighty fight.

Council Bluffs on the Missouri

Is temporary quarters for you and me.

We'll fire up the kettle and lift our heels;

We'll dance the Sugar Creek tickle;

Oh, you know how it feels.

 

Sugar Creek tickle.  Sugar Creek tickle.

Grab you gal and stamp your feet;

This bouncing dance just can't be beat.

Hold your honey then spin her around;

Laugh and sing, make a happy sound.

 

Then we pushed o'er the flat lands; we climbed the rocky hill.

We floated tumbling rivers, and found more mountains still.

The sun keeps burning softly; our faces show the wear.

But western lands keep calling; we'll build our Zion there.

We lifted through the canyon walls; we daily touch the sky.

We're living with the eagle now; it's here.  We've got to try.

 

Immigration is the canyon sweet; it's coming soon they say.

We then see the valley but hope we will not stay.

But Brigham gazes slowly; he says, "This is the right place."

It's here the God of Eden will build a noble race.

 

We lifted through the canyon walls;

We daily touch the sky.

We're living with the prophets now;

It's here.  We've got to try.

 

Allen Hackworth 2000