In the Valley of Missouri,
In the land of old Nebraska,
Rose a tribe of mighty warriors;
Warriors were they, skilled and fearless,
With Chief Shonka as their leader;
Great Chief Stiehm their medicine mixer.
In the fall of Nineteen-'leven,
Many tribes they met and conquered;
Conquered all, with one exception
Won the honors of the valley;
Mighty tribe of Stiehm's Cornhuskers!
Put to flight the tribe of Kearney,
Swamped indeed the Kansas Aggies;
In their third fight, battled, losing,
Gainst the mighty Minnesota.

Not disheartened, grit redoubled,
Scalps they gathered from Missouri
Then to Ames, our warriors journeyed,
Fought, returned, with honors even,
To outplay the hopeful Cretans
In the stormy, wintry weather.
Then arose the tribe of Kansas,
Filled were they with thoughts of vengeance,
Hatred had they for our warriors.
Conquered were they, though our chieftains
Met them on their ground familiar.
Back we came, to end the conflict,
Back to meet the Michiganders;

Foemen were they, strong and ruthless;
Too much they trusted in their prowess,
And their Eastern reputation.
We outplayed them, but ill-fortune
And the prejudice of judges
Robbed us of our well-earned vict'ry.
In the Valley of Missouri
Reigns a wholesome peace and quiet;
Quiet, and a deep contentment.
Now our warriors, breaking training,
Smoke the pipe of peace, and ponder;
Ponder o'er the next year's conflict.
All is well within the valley,
In the Valley of Missouri.
D. R. D.