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(learned in about 1957 from Martin Chaote and also from Barry Olivier;
- it was written by Lillian Bass Ross, Rich Dehr, and Sam Eskin in about 1953
- this version has been tinkered up a bit by Martin Choate and Jill Owsley
- this was the first song i learned which showed me that there were sad songs which were beautiful
- before that i just thought "folk music" was something that wasn't a hymn and wasn't played on the radio)

(music to go here)

My name is Juan Jallo de Castro; I'm the son of a Spanish grandee.
Well, I won my wife in a card game, and to hell with those lords 'cross the sea!
    For the South coast is a wild coast, and lonely; you may win in the game at Jalon;
    But the lion still rules the barranca, and a man there is always alone.

I sat in a card game at Jalon; I played there with a man they called Juan.
And after I'd won all his money, he said, I'll stake you my daughter, my Dawn.
I showed him three kings over sevens; he flung ope the door with a curse,
Saying, Take her, god damn it, you've won her, she's yours now for better or worse.
    For the South coast is a wild coast.....

Her hair was as gold as the sunset, with the softness of night in her eyes;
Not in all of the world's casinos has a man ever won such a prize.
Her arms had to tighten about me as we rode up the hill from the south;
Not a word did I get from her that day, nor a kiss from her pretty red mouth.
    But the South coast is a wild coast.....

We got to the cabin at twilight, the stars twinkled down on the coast.
She soon loved the valleys, the orchards; but I knew that she loved me the most.
Oh, that was a gay, happy winter; I carved out a cradle of pine.
We loved by the fire in the moonlight, and I sang with that gay wife of mine.
    But the South coast is a wild coast.....

Then I got hurt in a landslide, crushed hip, and a twice-broken bone;
She saddled a pony like lightning, and rode off through the night to Jalon.
The lion screamed in the barranca, the pony bolted and fell on a slide;
My young wife lay dead in the moonlight; my heart died that night with my bride.
    For the South coast is a wild coast.....

They buried her there in the orchard; they carried me back to Jalon.
And since then I've roamed all the oceans, a poor, broken man, all alone.
The cabin still stands in the valley, its doors open wide to the rain,
But the cradle and my heart are empty, and I never will go there again.
    For the South coast is a wild coast.....

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)