It seems like ten years ago
Though today my mind is slow
Me and Mickey Craig were running west from Idaho
Robbed a bank to get some bread
Seems like fifteen men lay dead
In a path that led us straight to Santa Rosa
Now and then old Mick would say
Boy, at home you should of stayed
Than to follow me and learn the life of looking back
But he'd spit and slap his side
Just to see if he's alive
Then he'd sing his banjo song of Santa Rosa
He said
Oh, singing, oh, Santa Rosa
Oh, high and low
Then one day sang old Craig
I'll be free to go my way
And be standing by the bay at Santa Rosa
Now one time, late at night
Mickey lit no fire light
'Cause he feared the posse close behind might flush us out
But he picked a bit before sleep
To the tune of Cripple Creek
He was murdered by a man from Santa Rosa
He shot him
Singing, oh Santa Rosa
Oh, singing, oh Santa Rosa
Oh, high and low
Till I come once again
With my banjo picking friend
We'll be, oh, high and low in Santa Rosa