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 ol' Mickey'd say, "Boy, at home you should've 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, whoa-oh, singin', "Oh, Santa Rosa", whoa-oh, high and low, ooh Then one day, sang ol' Craig, "I'll be free to go my way And be standin' by the bay at Santa Rosa", yeah 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 'fore sleep to the tune of Cripple Creek He was murdered by a man from Santa Rosa He sang, whoa-oh, singin', "Oh, Santa Rosa" Whoa-oh, singin', "Oh, Santa Rosa", whoa-oh, high and low, ooh Till I come once again with my banjo pickin' friend We'll be, oh, high and low in Santa Rosa Get up