Through early morning, misty light
The new days sun dispels the night
Rising from their weary slumber
Come the Mountain men, six in number.

Hardened veterans through and through
Their matted beards covered in dew
They tend their horses and their mules
To do otherwise they would be fools.

Then they eat a hearty breakfast repasts
And scrape the plews from traps long past
Then off they go in search of beaver
With pounding hearts the men are eager.

All the cold day they lay the traps anew
This what the grizzly Mountain men do
And as the sun gives up its warming light
They return to their camp to spend the night.

Talking of the old days long since gone
When beaver was king and the only one
Bragging of rendezvous and drinking wine
After a few sips of 'baldface' they're feeling fine.

Then they retire to their robes and pillows
Beneath the stars, the cottonwood and willows
Now sleeping soundly once again
They are the few - the Mountain men.