The Dead Cowboy Poet's Society

Now, ol’ Twister Tom he was quite a cowboy find— A real rock hard cowpoke, though the question begged— Some say that he was a legend in his own mind, He’d a been six foot six if he weren’t so bow-legged! But standin’ five foot two he was a dryin’ breed, So he took up wordin’ and became a poet! At eighty-two years all the big world he had seed, So he was a master bard before he knowed it! So Tom the bronc twister he done went on a tour And he read his poems at cowboy gatherin’s— They liked his gravel voice and his odd looks for sure And they loved all his colorful palatherin’s! But there got to be so many versifiers, That it started to seem lots of folks didn’t care— So they all turned into cowboy verse deniers— It was so dern crowded that nobody went there! Tom joined the ranks of Barker, Kiskaddon and Clark, Chapman, Morant, Fletcher and his great Knibbs— “It shore beats singin’ ta all them cows in the dark, And I don’t like wearin’ those overalls with bibs!” And rarely in recitin’ did Tom make a flub, But there was a lot he lacked in propriety— They said he was so dern good he should join a club, Like the famed Dead Cowboy Poet’s Society! But with Twister Tom that just didn’t set too right— Said, “I don’t want ta be in no society, What takes in any ol’ buzzard just on his sight And would accept as a member that likes of me!” But they swore that he’d be a perfect candidate, Yet he then said, “It seems there’s somethin’ you ferget— Before I is one of you cowboy poet’s, mate— They’s just one thang you overlooked – I ain’t dead yet!” So ol’ Twister Tom he kept makin’ him a name, He read his verse smooth and with no anxiety— And when he was dead wound up in the hall of fame And in the Dead Cowboy Poet’s Society!