When hard times come they sit a spell,
Like kin folk come to stay
A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids
That always get ‘n your way.
It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought,
There ain't much in-between.
You work like hell to make ’em good,
But still they’re sorta lean.
The ranch went under late last year,
The drought got mighty tough.
The boss held-out a long, long time,
But finally said, "enough!"
So here I am dispatchin’ cops
An’ watchin’ felons sleep,
In Junction, at the county jail,
A job I’ll prob’ly keep.
The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge,
Where older people stay,
A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors
To earn some ‘extra’ pay.
Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used,
It goes to payin’ rent,
An’ after all the bills are paid,
We wonder where it went.
We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps,
An' then our weddin' rings;
Then when we couldn't pay the loan,
They sold the 'dad-blamed' things.
We felt real bad a day or two
But then we let it go,
Cause it got Christmas for the kids
When money got real slow.
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Don't matter who you are;
They'll cost ya things you've set aside,
An' clean your cookie jar.
You'll loose some sleep an' worry some,
Won't pay to moan an' groan;
But hang on to your happiness,
They'll finally leave ya 'lone.
Zuzuni on the badlands
Montana's muddy badlands spread for thirty seven miles
along a cleft of sandstone bed, eroded years before;
the chestnut paced upon the bare of grass and well worn aisles
and I wore two new Navy Colts, of gauging forty four
beneath the noon light that defines but also eyes beguiles.
An anchorite, some years ago, upon the ridge of Grapes
where monasteries in the clouds are reaching out to God,
I learned to draw and shoot amidst the fog's white waving drapes
and prayed til the time was ripe t' abandon this abode,
cause solitude was molding deeds, constringing, thus, escapes.
I saw them waiting on the trail; three bandits stood apart:
Coyote Chit, Cheesecake Labif and Mambo-Jumbo Crock
with cross-tied low their pistols stood, assumptive and upstart
bemocking fools who patented their e'er noetic block
that teachers, tho', could not explain; not even wise Descartes!
My shots intended at their guns, the hoisted hammers broke;
I ordered them to start the dance that turns the clouds to rain
the land was in compelling need, as turf and plants evoked
the sympathy of Heavens that magnanimous ordained
the good ol' boys (and volunteers) to dance the rain's refrain.
Coyote was allowed to dance a prominent gavotte
meanwhile Labif's romantic soul preferred a marigold
but Crock's mazurka had untied the nimbus' Gordian knot
and rain began to pour upon those who the skies extolled
heroic men were meant to be, defining, thus, a blot.
Zuzuni, the Algonquin chief, had noticed this ordeal
and marveled at the outlaws forms, that caused the skies to rain
in order so, to buy the fools he offered a good deal
fourteen strong horses for each man, who danced to ascertain
that rains returned upon the slopes and also on the plains.
© 2014-10-15, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
Contest Name: Sketch a Character
Sponsor: Gautami Phookan
Out of the west, amide a beautiful sunrise… came a pie eyed son of a gun.
Looking for Armadilly Billy the Sling Shot Kidster… water gun… in hand.
He rode a very slow plug, an inchworm called ‘Giddy-Up-You-Lazy-Thing’.
Said he was seeking, Billy the outlaw, who had shot his brother in the leg.
But we all knew Billy hadn’t done it, cause he simply, shook his… head… no…
Sure he’d shot a few snakes in the grass, in the range war, way up North, long ago.
But he’d known everybody there; this one, was only here, to try to build a name.
Pie Eyed Spittoon the Rodeo Clown, was looking to earn some respect, with fame.
Now, you don’t find respect by drawing a water gun; it’s always a loosing game.
So we told him, Billy had moseyed on, somewhere way down south, late last May.
To our surprise, he sat down and cried; there was only so much he could take, to face.
Apparently, guy ladybugs don’t get much respect, especially in a fancy, rodeo place.
At that, Miss Kitty Purrfect, sashayed into place, right in front of Pie Eyed Spittoon.
She ask him what his real name was… He answered, it was Wilber Wash Number Two.
Taking him by the hand, she deftly led him off, giving him ideas for a great bar room.
A fancy pants Troll Lake Town sarsaparilla saloon, where flowers would be in bloom.
They would even serve High Tea with scones and crumpets, of course, in a back room.
But, there'd be a tin pan ally, piano in great use, in that bar area, up front, real soon.
Miss Kitty Purrfect would sit on top to sing a tune or two, as Mr. Spittoon kept the bar.
She would be his partner, to help liven up the crowd, and keep them from straying far.
The Muskrat Gang could clean up in their spare time when their other work was done.
Silk worms would be ordered from China Town, to make fancy drapes, in the bargain.
And Spittoon could serve Sarsaparilla, as Billy controlled the, sometimes-rowdy crowd.
All got what they’d wanted, without a single shot being fired, smart, don’t you think?
Troll Lake town was growing, at a rapid rate, but all were sure, it would be OK.
Armadilly Billy the Slingshot Kidster, was voted, as the sheriff in Town, that day.
And with Miss Kitty Purrfect by Billy’s side, a new era had definitely, begun in town.
Not to mention Mr. Spittoon, who enjoyed the respect, as barman, in our boomtown.
The moral my friend… is violence never wins… always use your head instead!
Making friends, will always serve you better, than making enemy’s… it’s often said!
Up in Colorado, in the forests of Pikes Peak
A cranky critters conference was held just this week
It was led by a mouse, 3 legs, whiskerless & without tail
"Against a common foe!" He said "We must Unite! We must prevail!"
He hobbled out to the edge of the woods & pointed toward a house
In that house, I once lived a good life, a young & healthy mouse
Then one day the rancher's wife decided she'd had enough
I will say she is a worthy adversary, Mercy she was tough!
He looked around at all the critters, weasel, skunk & squirrel
& said "I hate to admit it but I was bested by a girl!"
Its true, I escaped alive but she got her trophies, too
For I left my tail, paws & whiskers stuck there in her glue
The squirrel spoke up in a streetwise Brando voice
I'll accept the challenge! For this mission, I am the best choice!
I know this lady well, having enjoyed seeds & nuts out on her deck
I am not afraid of her & will show her we deserve respect
So the squirrel plotted & waited until the time was right
He saw his chance & took it while in the birds she took delight
He scampered up a pine tree & scurried out on to a branch
While she was distracted with a phone call & a pretty bird, he seized his chance
He took a flying leap, landing square on her blond head
Taking great delight in her squeals of surprise & dread
He then let loose with a torrent of the defecation sort
"That's for all the dead & walking wounded!" was his parting retort
The moral of this story, for one there must be
Is be mindful of avenging squirrels when you sit beneath a tree
Son, would you tuck in your shirttail
Was something often heard
At home when I was a youngster
With harsher action inferred
My otherwise kind hearted Mother
Had shirttails as a pet peeve
That boys were just naturally sloppy
Was something she wouldn't believe
It didn't seem to matter
That action was big in my plan
Like building a fort or a tree house
Or a game of kick the can
As long as my trouser tops covered
The tail of my shirt complete
Dear Mother seemed quite contented
And smiled at her son so neat
But catching fly balls and gophers
Are surely not meant I'd say
For shirttails tucked in and tidy
From the start to the end of a day
Well now that I'm older I smile
Each time I check my belt line
And straighten my shirt without thinking
Like a habit that's learned over time
Some Mothers have talent for teaching
Their lessons to boys of school age
Who think that neatness can't happen
'Till life's reached a much older stage
You see my reflex for shirttails
Was taught by a Mother with grace
Who sewed to each shirttail bottom
Two inches of fancy pink lace!
Too much Viagra and beer.
Too much Viagra and beer.
My wife was out of town,
I hit every club around.
Each time I'd hope to find
A horny woman here.
Country Bob's was the last club that was open.
Near blind drunk and horny, but I was still hopin'.
A pretty woman gave me a glance,
Smiled and said, "Nice pants.
Honey, I'm ridin' if you're ropin'."
A few hours later, I was in a Helluva mess
She's still ridin' hard and screamin', "God, this is the best!"
I was dizzy and light-headed. I had pains in my chest,
But she wouldn't stop long enough to call EMS.
When I came to, I was home in my own bed,
Next to my lovely wife; and this is what she said:
"I picked you up at Country Bob's, my dear;
And there's gonna be some changes around here.
You were fantastic last night;
So, I only think its right
If I supplement your diet
With Viagra and beer."
Viagra and beer. Viagra and beer.
She treats me like a king,
Says I make her body sing;
So, I'm happy on my diet of Viagra and beer.
Yes, I'm happy on my diet of Viagra and beer.
Submitted by: Buzz O'Words
Long miles of tedious journey,
Missing my darling honey.
Travelling impatiently, spend thousands of
Hope god will bless me with ma lucky soul
at this season.
Equatorial island exploring its amazed
beauty, glittering with immersed grasses.
Wrapped by queens necklaced small lake
aside, at the outskirts of dalhousie.
My heart dwelled into its god gifted
When the night lime lighted,
Millions of stars scattered around
As if its was a wondering boon.
Lucky enough for landing with my next
Eagerly waiting for my heart chaser,
Girl passed near by, few seconds later.
Flaming beauty mould my soul.
Topped with innocence, ready for my
Her chic appearance,
Her innocent appeal.
Strucking heart raised with high beats..
Awaited for our romantic date in ma
Frequency of our nature matched.
Stolen Eyes of each other were catched.
Strings of our heart whistled
Everything had happened miraclelously.
I rebelled the three precious words of
Accepting my red rose, She blushed.
At event of recreation, campfire were
Nobody around us, private moments
between we two spotlighted.
Playing guitar, she sinked with every beat,
That's the coincidence our eyes again
Hand in hand danced with the soothing
Sparkling smile on her face beamed.
Getting closer to her, because of her
Expecting the light around us to be dim.
The romantic moment again came,
Flaps of my soul opened for the grand
She looked too pretty in her gold lame
My heart awarded her an order of chivalry.
Don't know who are you, but baby you are
the one, I am in love.
You live in me, You are my love
I feel you in my heart,
You are my world, I just cant stay apart!
Please don't hesitate, please don't lie,
Whatever you feel, my heart can buy!
Angel of life, Its just you.
Completeness in life can't be without you.
Wanna Carry journey happily together.
Tickling nose, Queenly beauty of my white
Hold my senses, its caught by you.
Don't let be just memories, wanna feel
ecstasy of love towards you forever.
Promising to hold your hand throughout
life in this lovely weather.
Will be your shadow, because your pain
will be mine.
Its destiny that our heart clicked a
snapshot of each other's soul.
Stopping by my question, Will you marry
me, my Kindred Soul?
Hey, you all new cowboy brides
Listen, what my cowboy is…..
There are no Pizza Huts nearby
So got to cook in great quantities.
As there are no perfect cowboy jobs
Don’t be surprised if to live in a new ranch
Maybe your third house in one year.
When he returns home listen to his tales
Of every drive, every bronco ride
And every spree he has undergone.
If you are tired of this moving life
Buy heavy and costly furniture and
A piano or a cabinet and of course
Have a couple of kids to weigh him down.
Take care that his horse never stumbles
Spurs never rust, guts never grumble
Boots never pinch and stays out of jail!
Prefer the company of cowboys
Because they have not been educated
Sufficiently to reason incorrectly.
April 20, 2014
Form Free Verse
Fifth Place win
Contest:Howdy Pard by Shadow Hamilton
Hillbilly hand jive is the name of this here song.
So why don't y'all come out here and help us sing along?
Yippy ki yay and howdy do.
Y'all put yer arms right in and I'll show you what to do.
First take yer finger and stick it up yer nose.
Grab yerself a juicy one and stick it tween yer toes.
Raise up them there arms and swing em in the air
then run yer fingers right through that greasy hair.
Hillbilly hand jive is what yer doin now.
Run over yonder and tip that sleepin cow.
Now that were havin fun lets run around the farm.
Jump into the water hole and let that catfish bite yer arm.
Now lets go watch some Nascar and drink us lots of beer.
Sneak up on yer better half and slap her on the rear.
Hillbilly hand jive is what we want to do
so while yer up there dancin, throw me that there brew.
strap on those six-guns
throw on the saddle
and ten-gallon cowboy hat
mount him slowly
and keep it steady
speed it up
pull back hard
and ride him rough
< Now hold on there Tex !
Let me get dressed !
Let me saddle up my horse
To trollop around this Halloween course
Got on my chaps
My spurs and cowboy hat
Replica's of forty five's
Riding on my hips very high
With lasso in my hand
This little cowboy has a plan
So all you ghost and goblins
It's candies bounty I'll be coming an robbing
And I'll be taking loot for mummy
And for my daddy who has a bigger tummy
Happy Halloween To All
Especially little tikes who are so cute and small
Halloween Costume Contest
Chirpin Tom was quite a feller
He was always straight and true
He could sing a song and make the cowboys moo.
No, he wasn't much for fightin'
And his gun was seized with rust
But when crossed there had been bodies in the dust.
No, old Chirpin wasn't perfect
But he'd sing the cows to sleep
He could sing so good the flies would up and weep.
Chirpin's horse was Double Thunder
He was truly quite a ride
He would even stand beside a post untied.
So when Tom had finished singin'
He would mount and ride away
Down the trail until he found a place to stay;
Then he'd do some cowboy singin'
And he'd pray a cowboy prayer
And he'd sleep with all the cattle round him there.
Then when Tom would stay no longer
He would turn his horse's tail
And he'd travel down the hot and dusty trail,
Till he found a bunch of cowboys
Cookin' up some cowboy stew
Then he'd say, "Hey boys, how 'bout a song or two?"
Well, Finn and Mc Gee
Were riding along
Headed back home
When something looked wrong
So, Finn off his horse
Now looked all around
He said, "We are lost
But, there's something we've found"
"Look at this massive
Whole in this plain
We'll never get home
This is insane"
"A canyon like this
What an unlucky find
We can't ride around it
We haven't the time"
"And we can't ride down through it
There isn't a way
If even there was
We'd be dead in a day"
So Mc Gee very calmly
with shovel in hand
Said "Well, we'd better get crackin'
And fill it with sand"
A Cowboy Is
There once was a cowboy name Joe.
Who took his girlfriend to a show.
The lights were turned low.
Her lips he did blow.
It just goes to show Joe did go!!!!
*For Tirzah Conway's "A Cowboy Is" contest
heres how i see it
and heres how it is
living in this world where half of it is advanced
with indoor plumbing
and a huge chunk of the globe is not
part of the world still has a hole in the floor for a toilet
and we say ignorance is bliss
oh funny funny man on the moon
the joke you really meant in the Hollywood basement
of one giant step for man
and one leap for mankind
Have we not clued in yet?
Do we not live blind leading the blind?
Am i the only enlightened who realizes
that we were in space probably 70 years before we made it public to the world
and Nasa is full of it
oh funny funny funny man on the moon
why is society so gullible to think
that the governments technology hits the mainstream market
before they use it for years and perfect it and work out all the bugs
and then hands us something that just looks faulty
and we fall for it hook line and sinker
give me a moment
funny funny funny us
half the world buries their waste
and we flush it away
half the world has technology and half of it is in the stone age
and yet we seem to think
that whoever invents these things has no ties
or affiliation to putting us under their thumb
i mean come on do the math
they landed on the moon
how they tell you they send sattelites into space is a truth within alie
they made up 50 years ago
and were falling for it today
let me play
i get it
society is dumb
I'll write something yesterday
say i wrote it today
no one will know what to believe
I'll even put a cowboy hat on
I'm sure those cowboy western movies
they had just as many cameras and cellphones
but didn't release them in the market
consider yourself a fool
if you don't think they don't have something in their pocket full of tricks they are
working on right now
they're going to sell to the future
and no one gets the famous joke
the man on the moon told to the mensa geniuses
but a hush fell over the crowd
and I'm sure there was consequences for laughing
and chances are even they were blinded by the bling
life and blind leading the blind
such an easy concept to grasp
and man on the moon
your a funny funny funny man!
One time in the past, I saw a picture of me.
I was a child; I wore a cowboy suit with cowboy hat.
I don’t remember this, but it was still part of history.
There was only, one other time, other than that.
This time I wore, baseball cap and helmet at bat,
I knew early on, my head would be bare eternally.
For my head was too big and also to flat,
Believe me whoever I asked, would definitely agree.
The thing I would use a hat for, would be to swat a gnat.
So I really have no favorite, definitely not, a Top Hat.
Sponsor Carol Brown
Contest Name My Favorite Hat or Bonnet
or tired love?
and weak games
Look at you!
Your such a lame!
Me cry?! Ha! Not no more!
Five point five years
What a joke?!
All you do is lie
Keep smoking your life away!
Wake up before its too late!
Before this love turns into hate!
Your too old to act this way!
Your too comfortable
You cant stay!
In my life!
In my way!
Goodbye to you!!!
"I should have been a cowboy"
Toby Keith sings in his song;
I should have been a cowboy
breaking horses all too strong...
I could have been a cowboy
sitting high up in the saddle,
but my job wouldn't be easy
since I have to tend to cattle...
I would have been a cowboy
if I was just one foot taller,
but those jeans aren't made
for someone fatter and smaller...
I might have been a cowboy
if I had lived out in the dust,
but I was born in the East
and stayed to watch it rust...
Alas, I never became a cowboy -
not sitting high, not very strong;
but I do wear my cowboy boots
whenever I sing with Toby's song.
For "A Cowboy Is" contest sponsored by Tirzah Conway.
Her grand gals axed her one time
How did hers ever gits a date
Her done went ta a all gals school
Theys wudn't let no boys in
Ut makes me's won ders
Yep ut sure do
Theys at that datin age
And figgers theys
Finds oot if's hers was a good
Gal er bad.
Her tells um
Theys jist bet er be's
Good gals er else.
Youse cain't gits a good
Feller if'n youse any thin else
An than her tells um it were no never mine
Her knowed where her cowboy her'd fine
Her went ta school
An gots her job
Near tha H bar T rench
What were a real sandy spot
Tha lan' lady her 'vites the cowboy
frum up tha nex rench
Ta comes down fer a little supper
An ta meets tha new gal what are gonna teach.
Theys played cards er sumthin' or so her seys
An when him are ready ta leaves
Her axed him if'n he's cuds
Puts her saddle in the barn, please
Sunday her's was over ta tha school
Gittin ready fer ta teaches tha golden rule
When him done stops an tells her
He are a goin ta the ropin club
An seys theys room in tha car fer her.
Her seys hers will goes with um
But hers did unt axes
What kinda drinks theys serves
Et this club.
Him were a proud cowboy feller were he
His job were m-portatnt youse see
An sum times if'n he gits his work all done
Him jist mights calls her on tha tel-e-phone.
When Thanksgivin comed round
Her wents ta Kansas an seed her folks
An him wents ta Wyomin ta looks at a rench
When him did comed back
Him stops fer a spell
An when him are goin ta leaves
Her walks him oot ta the car ya sees
An tells him hers goin ta a weddin
On June Nine teenth
Him jist looks at her an seys
If'n him are supposed ta be's....
Well youse knows tha rest
Her done it
They's war forty seven years an two weeks
When her gits done tellin her grand gals
Theys mouths was open big
An her tells um
Yep her did
That's how youse
Comed ta be's.
Her telled Billy what her telled tha gals
An him seys, with a spark in his eye
Him were a weldin
"I's never did axed youse ta marrys me,
Youse knows youse er right."
Now when Billy looks down et her from aboves
Her kisses hers wedding ring with love
Cause on theys wedding bands youse'll finds
Tha stars an tha moon fer all times
I's mad that lan lady did unt vites me's down
Then maybe's them gran gals wud a
X.......John e Cowpoke
She hails from San Antonio
In the great state of Texas
And there is something you should know:
She is not just a cowgirl
She is a walking party
She can chug drinks like Jack Daniels,
Crown Royal, Jim Beam and Bacardi
She loves the Country Music
Of Jack Ingram, Pat Green,
And the king himself George Strait
Every guy that takes one glance at her
Wants her to be their next date
They love the way she walks
In those tight Wrangler jeans and her white cowboy hat
She is an absolute fox
I wish I had the courage
To ask her out
But she is way out of my league
There is no doubt
She is so hot and Texas trouble
I was heading to the bunkhouse, after a wild night on the town
dancing & romancing & one too many round
Back in my wild & woolly days, one more rowdy Saturday night
full of cheap beer & whiskey & the necessary fight
I set Ol' Gus on auto pilot, he knew the way back to the spread
And I set to fighting with those rotgut demons dancing in my head
We were getting pretty close to home, so I eased up on the bit
when all of a sudden that dang horse he up & quit
His ears were all pricked forward, listening quite intense
I caught a drift of what might pass for music, somewhere beyond the fence
It took a lot of persuading, cussing & cajoling
but I got ol' Gus headed for all the caterwauling
the sound got more peculiar as we crested the hill
the memory of what I saw that moonlit night stays with me still
for I had stumbled on a peculiar party, hosted by a peg leg dog
and there was a one eyed pole cat doing comedic monologue
A Blueberry Roan soon took the stage, singing Motley Crue
I swear I saw a big ol' ornery hog with a "born to squeal" tattoo
There were bulls & Heifers dancing, I couldn't believe my eyes
why those bovine wore spikes and body piercings, in places utterly unwise
There where horses with mohawk hairdos head banging to the song
I swear to you, Ol' Gus, he began to sway & sing along
Now I know what you're thinking & I most heartily agree
it was the moon & wind playing tricks, along with rotgut whiskey
You city folks can keep your pink elephants parading in tutus
for this cowboy was shown the light by a Roan in blue suede shoes
I gave up hell raising & carousing, said so long to the honky-tonk life
Happy now to stick to ranching & dancing under the moon with my wife
But every now & again, when the wind blows & the moon is shining bright
I swear I can hear the livestock laughing & head banging through the night
Not all them ol’ time cowpokes
Wore them tight blue jeans, of course—
Most wore hot ol’ striped dress pants
Of thick cotton that was coarse.
It was Levi that came ‘round
To cover up our backside—
So we didn’t bust britches
When we went to take a ride.
Now they still got stove pipe legs
And jeans that is loose fittin’—
Even them short baggy drawers
That brings a poke to spittin’!
And we got them in colors—
Some that is downright dern crass—
But they all done do their job,
Hidin’ rears of lad and lass.
And though it seems that cowboys
Are now seldom in the norm—
You can bet your jean bottom
They wear that cowboy uniform!
And if I do go senile
And I’m clearly in decline—
Don’t bury me in dress pants—
I want jeans on my ol’ behind!
Funny Story and unfortunately true. When I was in Prison at Pelican Bay State prison in Crescent City, Ca., one of the ways I made money or "cantene" as it was called was poetry of sorts.. I was more or less the hallmark kinda person. Writing stuff for anyone that asked and especially when they paid. I was asked to write a poem about having a pocket full of rocks. I had made the mistake of boasting that I could come up with something at least with a beginning, middle and end about anything.....anything ..........You read this and you will see how wrong I was.....or was I?
"Pocket Full of Rocks"
I had a brand new pick up truck.
A big wide screen T.V.
A house up on the hillside
beneath the shade of and old Oak Tree.
I once wore some fancy clothes.
All around the world I'd roam.
Now all I've got is what you see.
Flat broke and all alone.
I was known at every bank in town.
Had more cash than I thought I'd spend.
Both A Master Card and Visa
whose limits had no end.
I had women everywhere I turned.
More love than you could know.
Then I went and blew it all.
Where did it all go?
Now with patches on my blue jeans
and holes in both my socks,
I've a head thats full of empty dreams
and a pocket full of rocks.
No..I don't have a dog gone thing.
No car! No clothes! No house.
Hell even my best friend is gone.
Ran off with what was my spouse.
Yet I'm still fairly happy.
I can't dwell on what I had.
Cause' if I did; believe you me.
I'd be to Gaw Durn sad!
They were talking about drugs. I did not know they were talking about a drug. So you can imagine all the crap I got on this one. .... Prison sucked. I deserved to be there. (I never hurt anyone, stole or terrorized anyone) This was a very lighthearted moment in a time of my life that was anything but pleasant.
*I had no idea I was being so prophetic.........For Someone?
camera three is having
an existential crisis;
his long languid lens
has suffered in silence,
an impotent shard of
for his vision won’t
focus on faecal injustice,
camera three is having
an existential crisis;
or other devices,
just won’t solve the problem,
or even negate,
this delicate time
in his delicate state,
camera three is having
an existential crisis;
Osiris, Anubis, Oasis and Isis,
have all shed the skin of
guitar band dementia,
wheeling out wisdom
for the fear of inertia,
camera three is having
an existential crisis…
Best Ever Saw
I’m gonna tell you a story,
Of the saltiest preacher I know.
The kinda man to charge hell,
With a hand full of snow.
Now I was stompin out broncs.
For the ranch W M,
Tunin’ up for the rodeo
That I planed to win.
When this tall talkin’ preacher,
Tells me about all my sin,
And tellin’ me about salvation,
That only with the lord could I win.
So I tells him God never been,
On no killer broncs as these.
Only his counter part,
Can tame the likes of these.
But that ol’ preacher was a believer,
And said God can move mountains,
And only through his word,
Can you find out his plans.
I say’s true nuff,
I believe it’s a fact.
But I get you wouldn’t be so sanctomonios
If you got on catamouts back.
Well now that ol’ preacher
Up and calls my bluff
And toe’s into the sturrip
And settled down with a huff
Now Catamount likes what he does,
And does it right well.
And I knew this here preacher
Was going to get a real taste of hell
Ol’ Cat knew every trick
Writ in the book
And I’d lay wages to say he’s
The auther if you cared to look
Cat he start out easy to the left
And finishes out to the right
But that preacher sat that saddle
Jest holdin’ on tight
Then that mean ol’ bronc
Starts curly-wolfin’ it though the field
And I think that preacher
Knew ol’ Cat would never yield.
Next cat starts a sunfishin’
‘cuz he had new shoes he wanted to show
Oh. By the way they’re Nike’s
‘case you wanted to know.
But then that preacher was about
To give up and fall
The Wallmart attendant came out
And unplugged the pony from the wall
That goes to show you
The Lord works in strange ways
For I see that preacher ever’ week
‘Cuz I goes to church on Sundays.
our skills..talents..gifts,that we have..
these are our tools..weapons..instruments
and we just want to live..
put into a situation in wich we did not choose our roles..
some of us are the fans and the royalty
they watch people like me do what needs to be done...
people like me..we just want to live
so we use our weapons and do what we have to..
we didnt choose for it to be like this..
we watch the fortunate crowd the seats of this coliseum called life..
and they watch us jump back and forth through shades of color..
they judge us...
but we just want to live
He weren't nothin' but a broomtail.
Jist a sorry lookin', notch-eared nag.
He stood there leanin' ag'in' the fence
Like a dirty, wore out, old dish rag.
But the wrangler was desp'rate fer a mount
And there weren't none else around.
So he paid the stableman ten bucks--
The nag weren't worth two cents a pound.
When the wrangler cinched the saddle down
The horse gave out a groan
And breathed a weary, ragged sigh,
As the seasoned rider settled on.
Then spur raked lightly horse's flank,
And sparks began to fly.
Like a July, Roman candle,
The nag shot to’rd the sky.
The screamin' bomb turned end fer end,
Then halted on a dime.
He bounded north and he bounded south;
In both directions at one time.
Then once ag'in the rocket fired
And the pair was skyward bound.
Two critters one when they went up,
But not when they came down.
The nag lit lightly on his feet
As a feather, you might say.
The wrangler landed on his face
In a cloud of dust, ten feet away.
The broomtail watched the wrangler
Drag his bruised and achin' body by;
Then he limply leaned ag'in' the fence,
And twitched his ears and closed his eyes.
We branded alla our cattle today,
And man, that job is rough;
If you ain’t gonna help, get outa the way,
Cause cowboyin’ is only for the tough;
Rope them calves and drag ‘em in,
Make sure yer rope is taut;
An’ soon the brandin’ will begin,
Once the battle has been fought;
Flank them calves and hold ‘em tight,
Cause one kick s’all it’ll take;
Better hold on with alla yer might,
Till the calf is outa the gate;
Tag ‘em, brand ‘em, an’ give ’em a shot,
Then send ’em on their way;
Get ready, once the calf is caught,
You’ve gotta jump into the fray;
Cowboyin’ is a dangerous job,
But it’s one that’s gotta get done;
Work until yer fingers throb,
Usually from sun to sun!
(French terms to know: arabesque (ar-a-besk) stand on one leg, other leg extended back
with knee straight, arms out; pirouette (peer-oo-et) a full turn of the body on the top of
the toe or the ball of the foot; releve' (rel-vay) rise up from the whole foot onto the
ball of the foot; demi plie' (dem-ee plee-ay) half bend of the knees; port de bras
(por-de-bra) continual movement of the arms through a series of positions; fouette
(foo-ay-tay) series of turns on one leg, the other leg extending rapidly to side and
whipping around body; glissade (glee-sade) a connecting sliding step
When corrals turn to mush
and all dirt roads are slush,
springtime has arrived at our place.
The challenge begins
since I'm sans webs or fins
to walk outside with upright grace.
I don my galoshes
and cov'ralls that washes
to feed stock that wait in the lots.
By the time I return
I will honestly earn
my decor of brown and green spots.
As I step in the slop,
my galoshes do flop,
as ankle-deep mud gets a grip.
In slow forward motion
I ease through this potion,
resisting the muck's pull to slip.
I feed several hay bales
and balance two grain pails,
while working my way through the soup.
But before I am through
I'll lose one boot or two
from suction of that muddy goop.
My foot's poised in the air
as I (gasp) balance up there.
I execute an arabesque,
a slow pirouette
so I shan't get all wet.
What I need is a chair or a desk!
My predicament here
since my boot is so near
is to turn it around in the slop.
My balance must hold
while my foot's in this mold
and fearing my body will drop.
A controlled releve'
and demi plie'
are more than my posture can stand.
A wild port de bras
while I desperately claw
finds me catching the ground with my hand.
I snap a fouette'
and turn the other way.
I manage a slippery glissade.
For it's not every day
you see Muck Dance Ballet--
just when ankle deep mud makes you wade.
Copyright Terry Henderson
Where are all the cowboys?
Where have they all gone?
Maybe they're in Texas, but they sure aint here - yee haw!
The kind who says, howdy, maam.
Then they tip their hat.
Maybe they're in Arizona, I wouldn't know about all that.
I saw one in a magazine just the other day.
Good thing he could not see me, and I'll leave it there, okay?
Where are all the cowboys?
Tell me, where could they all be?
Maybe they're in Colorado, but they aint in Tennessee.
The kind who say, you sure are pretty.
Do ya mind if I sit down?
A man gets kinda thirsty, and I'm new here in this town.
I do not know what else to say.
I just know the way I feel.
If God don't send a cowboy soon, I might find one I can steal!
Inspired by listening to my Urban Cowboy soundtrack.
I have a name for my husband. One that can be repeated. I call him cowboy. But
he tells me I am wrong. He never redeoed, nor a Saturday night cowboy was he.
And he was way to young for the cattle drives of history. Born on his father’s
homestead in Nebraska sandhill land. He started working full time on a ranch as
a lad of fourteen. All of the work they did back then was done with horses and
teams. True cars were around in ‘45, but tractors were hard to be found. So for 8
years he proudly worked on the famous 101 Nebraska ranch. In l9 hundred and
57 I started teaching up there. When my teaching job was done the cowboy and
the teacher became as one. I moved up the beautiful valley to the ranch where he
did work and don’t laugh I then became the cook. And while we worked we kept
our eyes and ears open for a ranch of our own. At last we were blessed with the
ranch of our dreams on the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota Land.
One Day I was listening to an old Cowboy song
My boots began to tapping & I began to sing along
A Cowgirl stepped to the mic & as she began to sing
It sounded like a falsetto auctioneer pulling vowels out on a string
I perked my ears & listened, it didnt seem that hard
If I could learn to yodel, I'd be a Cowgirl Superstar
So I warmed up & just let loose
Was that the call of a lovesick moose?
So I adjusted my pitch, had my stance down pat
Just as I began to yodel, I swear someone stepped on a cat
I struggled on through most of the day trying to warble & trill
And If I'd not sprained my tonsils & tongue, I'd be at it still
Let's hear it for the Cowboy Yodeler, Head & shoulders above the rest
For in mastering the yodel, you surely passed the test
I only have one question, I'd really like to know
Why they sing about her & where did the little old lady go?
When long johns get religion
And you’re fallin’ out the door—
And bowels just move a smidgeon
When they need to move much more—
Then ol’ north winds come knockin’
And it’s then that you sure know—
If relief don’t come callin’
That you’ll sure enough dern blow!
Then your stomach do start rumblin’
Like it’s in some argument—
And you know the storm’s comin’
And it won’t be heaven sent!
That’s when you cinch your sphincter
To repress that symphony—
To kill or mute the coarseness
While in polite company.
But when that time is over
And ol’ nature runs its course—
You’d better blame your best pard
Or meekly point at your horse!
Yes, long johns hide revival
When your bowels can take no more—
But if you feel it comin’
Just undo that ol’ trapdoor!
Although there be some debatin’
‘Bout if ol’ cowboys wear socks—
I can tell you fer a dern fact,
That true cowboys don’t wear Crocs.
They just don’t fit a stirrup right,
And bright colors scare the stock—
I’ll sure nuff shoot the first cowboy
I see wearin’ a new Croc!
Oh, we talk of Old West legends
Like our Jesses’ and Hickoks—
But I hope I never do see
Cowboys herdin’ in their Crocs!
And when that great cattle Master
Lays me low beneath the rocks—
Just make sure I’m wearin’ my boots
And not a pair of them Crocs!
You Rode Into My Town
Gunned all The Lonely Deputies Down
Blew-Up The Bank Of Trust, In Our Face …
Where, There Was Hope … Is Now Empty Space …
… Now, I Gotta Chase You ! …
Armed and Dangerous
Jesse James, Would Be Jealous
… of You – Outlaw !
You’re Outrageous …
… and You’re An Outlaw ! …
Stealing Hearts, Like They Was Gold
… Silver Bullets, Are The Lies, You Told
Just A Masked-Man, Running Away …
No Longing-Arms, Can Make You Stay
… This Is Where You Pay (Now) ! …
# 1 On Our Wanted List …
They Told Me You Never Miss ! …
… In A Duel, or A Quick Kiss …
… You’re An Outlaw !
Rustlin’ Cows and Cheating at Cards
Done Knocked Down, Many A Weak and Off-Guard
I Will Chase You Long and Hard
To Show You, How It Feels To Be Scarred …
… My Personal Reward ! …
$ 10,000.00 Reward
A Dollar, For Each Broken Heart
… Better Get A Head-Start …
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / That’s What All Outlaws Sing!
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / Then, This is Just A Real Bad Dream!
Oh, I didn’t do Anything / Stop! … Then, Where’s Her Dadgum Ring? …
You Avoid Honor, Like A Hangman’s Noose
Out There, Wild and Still Running Loose
Wanted Posters, Up On Every Wall
When They Look At It … Tears Just Fall …
… You’re A Real Quick-Draw ! …
Look At That Brim …
Cocked-Low, Like A Trigger-Rim …
… Yeah, That’s Him ! …
… It’s The Outlaw ! …
This is Showdown For Nerves-On-Edge
No More Hide-Outs; Not Another Hedge
No More Ladies, Lying On A Ledge
No More Lies, Or A Broken Pledge …
… See This Badge !!! …
I Shoot Straight From A Curve-Hip …
You Won’t Get To Give Me The Slip …
You’re Gonna Get Wild-Whipped …
Girl, I Know You’re Hurtin’ / But He Was Only Flirtin’
Luv, Stop Your Crying / Break Free From His Lying
Hon, I’m Doing You A Favor / He Ain’t Never Gonna Put No Ring On Your Finger …
He’s An Outlaw !
(Part One of Two)
Nuthin’, But Trouble and Texas-Tuff
But for You – Stuff’s About To Get Rough
By Now, You Should Have Had Enough
Now, Make Your Choice, Hang ‘Em High, or Cuffs ? …
… Come Out With Your Hands Us ! …
Are You That Hot-Bloodied, Heart Killer ? …
Well, You Look A Lot Like Him, Mister …
… by the way, that You Kissed Her …
You’re An Outlaw !
Beneath Stars or by Light Of The Moon
I’m Riding Fast … Will Catch Up Soon
Midnight … Will Be Our Stroke Of High Noon
I Stand-Steady … I Will Not Swoon …
… This Is Your Once In A Blue Moon ! …
… and Outlaw ! … I’m Calling You Out !
Outlaw ! … Come Out, Of Your Hide-Out !
Outlaw ! … There Is No Doubt …
… You’re My Outlaw …
Outlaw ! … I’m Bringing You In !
… You’ll Never Ride The Range Again
Outlaw ! … ‘Cause Only Then …
… You’ll Be My Outlaw … Outlaw !
So you think you know just how us cowboys should behave
But listening to your jawing, I hear Chisholm spinning in his grave
A Cowboy who don’t drink or cuss, I’ll tell you that’s not right
Ain’t you heard of Old Whiskey Row, Where two cowboys got tight?
To go to tying knot’s in the Devil’s tail took more than lemonade
There’s been liquor on the bar in every movie John Wayne made
Back when Chisholm blazed the trail & cattle claimed the West
It was music round a campfire, as the hands settled for a rest
They’d often talk of home or sing a tune to pass the time
You’ve seen that in the movies, when it only cost a dime
They sang of Laredo, Lil Joe or maybe Annie Laurie
Right then & there you decided what a Cowboy ought to be
There are some things we might share with Hoppy, Roy & Gene
But real cowboys won’t ever be like those on the Disney scene
Any buckaroo can sure clean up sharp for a Saturday night dance
Even be persuaded to use pretty words when sparking a romance
We pick a little guitar and some can make that harmonica wail
But you’re just as apt to hear La Bamba as you are a song of the trail
Those cowboys that you talk of, all slick & squeaky clean
All pressed and starched, with proper speech, they ride a silver screen
You see that feller in the corner, all tattered & dusty, that’s the real McCoy
Battered old Stetson, mud & manure spackled jeans, a bonafide Cowboy
He might be rough around the edges and his language a bit coarse
But when he sets to working cattle, You swear he was born on a horse
We are only human after all; sometimes we just need to cut loose
Shoot out the lights, kiss all the ladies; drink our fair share of the booze
We still love our mommas and say grace with most meals
We just don’t handle being boxed, can’t stand the way it feels
Those who don’t tolerate a lot of rules choose the cowboy way
Much like this cowboy you see here before you today
I can see you are trying to sort this out in your head
For all you know of cowboys is what you’ve seen and read
I surely hope this little talk about cowboys made it all a bit clearer
The only one we answer to is the maker and the face in the mirror
I hate to burst your bubble, still you best here it from me
Cowboys can’t be pigeon holed; they must be wild & free
Catherine Lilbit Devine © September 19, 2005
the cactus stood in surprise
with his arms to the sky
while the sun took his water not his life
sun told the prairie dogs
this is a hold up!
get in yo holes!
nosy rodents get shot with heatstrokes
little ms vegetation
close yo eyes and you won't die
dry desert!, run them
permanent bodies of water out of town!
create a dust storm!
sheriff ain't around!
he and his posse clouds are stormin
on the other side of them mountains
cactus!, you tell sheriff rainfall
he is yella!, and to erratic!
we don't see , violent stormy weather , in these parts
is another dry gulch day
Wasn't"t till the stool broke...
That my day of being a cowboy ended...
Still what can one do...
No horse in sight...trucks broke...
Now down to a bucket...
Pretty sad sight a stool tot ten cowboy...
I know it has another name...
But try to get a date in this day and age....
Saying "I Milk'em"...
So far the friends I have keep this secret...but...
After awhile some of us..."You know..."
Brought the girls home...
"Nice touch...",borrowed the truck...
Look's like you have it all....
" A real cattle man..."
Then the truth is heard...
Not a bull is sight...
Not all the city girls know...
"Mine did..."now I sit and ponder...
Should I ever go back...
After being called Jursey...to Daisy's little helper...
My cowboy seems to have died...
"Saying I Milk'em..."
I’m calling the Suicide Hotline,
This sad Cowboy poetry is getting me down,
I’m looking for a happy thought,
But one just can’t be found.
I’ve got a case of Cowboy Melancholy,
Depression of the deepest kind,
A malady that causes Cowboy Poets,
To think only in disparaging rhyme.
Perhaps you’ve not heard of it,
It’s a little talked about affliction,
That sneaks up rather slowly,
And attacks a Cowboy’s diction.
It starts with Cowboys talking,
About having to shoot their horse,
Or the death of the very last Longhorn,
And Cowboy life having run it’s course.
They tell about being stomped by a bronc,
About how women will break your heart,
Don’t say there won’t be no more Cowboys,
Please, just leave out that part.
Death, dismemberment, getting gored,
It makes me sorrowful and morose,
I tell you these gloomy Cowboy poems,
Boarder upon the verbose.
Is there nothing to say that’s amusing?
Or perhaps a bit light-hearted?
Is Cowboy life, nothing but strife,
And all about the dearly departed?
Does any one remember,
When Cowboy poetry was fun?
I tell you we got us a Crisis !
Quick ! Someone call COW-1-1 !!!
We need some recitation resuscitation,
If Cowboy poetry we are to save,
Go easy on that couplet verse,
About Cowboys in unmarked graves.
Hook those paddles to our pencils,
And everyone stand clear,
Shock the daylights out of us,
Till we write Cowboy poetry delightful to hear.
I vote we form a support group,
With a name somewhat synonymous,
A two-step Western program of sorts,
And call it Cowboy Poets Anonymous.
I suppose I could surrender to the urge,
Recite just one poem of despondent refrain,
But I took the oath, and from this day on,
From this Cowboy Curse I’ll try to abstain.
" Hi, my name is ________, (fill in the blank!)
and I’m a Cowboy Poet... "
Copyright © 1999 Debra Coppinger Hill
Now, Early from Young Womanhood
I Owe A Cowboy, My Confidence
Seems Nobody, Can Build A Woman Up
Like A Cowboy’s Compliment
… I Was On My Lunch Hour
While Working At A Bank Downtown
I Went To Piccadilly’s Cafeteria
… got Line-Selection and Sat Down
They Say, ‘You Never Know Who’s Looking’
And I Can See, That’s True
And I’m Gonna’ Give You Proof
By What Those Two Cowboys, Did Do …
The Piccadilly’s Was Full
‘Cause There Was An Oil-Show In Town
Two Western Hats and Suits Passed My Table
One Tall-Blue, and One Tall-Brown
And One, Picked Up My Ticket
Don’t Remember Which, (It Was A Quick-Draw)
I Was Busy, Sugaring Tea
Shiny-Boots Passing, Was All I Saw …
It Took A Moment for Mild-Shock, to Go
Realizing I Had No Menu-Ticket
‘Til One of Them, At The Register, Pointed At Me
and Paid … That’s Why They Picked-It
Now, I Had An Office-Outfit On
And, I Didn’t Think It Was All That …
But Obviously, My Suit, Hairdo, and Polished-Heels
Inspired Them To Pick Up The Check …
Now, They Didn’t Try To Flirt
They, Didn’t Say A Word To Me …
Just Walked Out Into The Texas Sunshine
Handing Me A High-Noon-Flattery …
And Since from My Young Womanhood
I Often Smile At Those Cowboy’s Compliment
And Ain’t Nobody Been Able To
“ Tell Me, I Ain’t All That – " Sense “ ! !
A True Tale …
You know that you’re old as dirt
When your whole body does hurt—
You grab a cane ‘stead of quirt
And you’re just too old to flirt.
It’s when you have to trim hairs
From your nose and your big ears—
You’re sure that those creepin’ years
Has justified all your fears!
It ain’t that you’re gittin’ old
Or Father Time is too bold
Or the last crow has done crowed—
It’s sittin’ ‘round till ya mold!
But if time comes a knockin’,
Don’t let it be too shockin’—
Don’t take your tack for hockin’,
You’re jest rollin’, not rockin’!
So when you’re payin’ for sins
And seems your life never ends—
You’ll know just who’s your true friends
When they has to change your Depends!
Life is what you don’t step in—
It’s what you step around.
But if you’re always missin’ it,
It’s still there on the ground.
Sometimes you cannot miss it—
It goes up to your neck—
But now you know just what it is
And say “Now what the heck!”
But like cowpokes too close to fire—
We have to eat some soot.
If it ain’t all over your boots,
You’d just as well be barefoot!
I think that I shall never see
A cowboy that eats toe-foo—
Sech a dern thang jest could not be
In this ol’ bunkhouse crew!
Real men eats beef an’ pork an’ beans—
And all thangs within their reach—
Us real cowpokes drink coffee black—
Turn noses up at quiche!
Veggies should stay in ranch gardens—
These lips will taste no yogurt!
Good stew and biscuits make amends—
Seaweed makes bellies hurt!
Give us jerky or give us death—
Give us beans till we’re all blue—
But with all your strength and your breath—
Don’ serve us no toe-foo!
The Circuit Preacher came to town,
and the word of God he preached,
At the end of his sermon,
our souls he did beseech.
We all stood shuffling around,
like calves stuck in the mire,
We’d only come to see the foreman’s sisters,
who were singing in the choir.
What happened next surprised us,
it was the derndest thing we ever saw,
There was Frank, on his knees,
his hands clasped beneath his jaw.
Now Frank, he was a sinner,
of a magnitude most high,
It was not beneath his dignity,
to cheat or steal or lie.
But there he was, on his knees,
praying with all his might,
Begging for forgiveness,
for he had seen the light.
I’d like to say Frank truly changed,
becoming perfect through and through,
But there’s no use in saying so,
I’d just be lying to you.
But he was a bit more tolerant,
and every once in awhile,
He treated the hands respectful,
sometimes, he would even smile.
Sure, he had his slip-ups,
but most of his time was well spent,
And when he was bad, he was sorry,
the very definition of the word repent.
On the day he passed from this world,
he went grinning without a sound.
And no one here has ever forgotten,
the day the Circuit Preacher came to town.
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!
My ol' memory is hazy
And sometimes things don't seem too real;
But I can still recall the night
That I danced at the Wagon Wheel.
Well, seems I was in a good mood
And was puttin' on quite a show;
Prancin' on top of that slick bar
And yellin' like a crazy crow!
I wore my new black Hoppy shirt
And a pair of Gene Autry boots--
They say I danced till 'bout midnight
And did all them ol' cowboy scoots.
Then outside that saloon window
Comin' in was a gent in black;
They said he was that bogey man--
Since that night I never been back.
So ends my honky-tonk story;
Like Red says: "It's saucered and blowed"--
I never danced for drunks again
Like back when I was four years old.
I sometimes think my poetry ain't poems in modern favor.
Intelligentsia declares, but I danged well won't waver
from writin' simple, unpretentious words 'n' thoughts called “witty”.
From now on my poetry ain't a poem, it's called a ditty.
“Listen t' this little ditty.” I've heard those cowboys say
when they begin to sing a song of wisdoms of the day.
Now I don't think me wiser than the smart guys that I know,
but I just like to fake it in my stand up poet's show.
Now cowboys, they write poetry to sum their thoughts in rhyme
'bout words o' wisdom or describin' real weird points in time -
like twisters twistin' towns apart or floods that float the cows
or simple words, “what goes comes 'round” brings thinkun' jus' like owls.
So listen to this little ditty, if fer nuthin' else than fun
of listenin' to a cowboy fake that he's a wiser one
a spoutin' words of poetry that some folks may call “gritty”.
I'll seldom waiver from my writin' what I call a ditty.
There was a rumor that I heared ‘bout Pete
Goin’ and committin’ matrimony—
But that’s likely as ol’ Scratch getting’ beat,
And who said it is full of baloney!
But John-Bob done says he was the best man
And shore nuff Prickly went and tied the knot—
But I cain’t see Pete wearin’ a gal’s bran’,
So I done thinks it’s just as likely not!
But lo and behold in rides ol’ Prickly
With a purty gal all strawberry blonde—
But ol’ Pete, he is lookin’ might sickly
And of his nose ring he just ain’t too fond!
Then right in front of the whole dern ol’ town,
Stoney, smilin’, he just pops the question:
“Is you hitched Pete? With yer feet on the ground?
Or is we dreamin’ and you’s still our bastion?!”
Ol’ Pete, he climbs down back to earth and yells:
“Not many call me a bastion and live!
I ain’t never heard me no weddin’ bells
And here’s a passel of advice I’ll give:
“Never jumps to them conclusions, mister,
That even your eyes may lead you to see—
Ya see this here is my dear young sister—
And all you cowboys better let her be!”
Well, all the town folk done apologized—
And there sure weren’t no ring on a finger—
But we gets to thinkin’ that they had lied
When their kisses did linger and linger!
“Well, gosh dern! That proves it!” Stoney did say,
“It’s shore nuff somethin’ that ya jest cain’t miss!
If Pete and that gal married up OK—
An ol’ married couple wouldn’t still kiss!”
So I reckon the moral here ain’t neat—
Don’t jump claims or to no dern conclusions—
Specially ‘bout the ol’ cowboy called Pete
Or you’ll wind up with just more confusions!
For lovers fighters and wild bronc riders
heres to the boys from new mexico
we have no trifles
we hang our balls upon the walls and shoot 'em down with rifles
when sex rare we'll rape a bear and sleep in dirty ditches
we'll show them texan boys we're some bad sons of god
Ah, spring is in the air. The time when Mother Nature renews herself.
The loving arms of the sun and the tears of the clouds bring forth the little green
shoots of promise. The little animals have preformed their dances of renewal
and their species is ensured. Ranching on the Rosebud Reservation of S. D. we
had a cow calf operation. Our springs were in tune with nature and not only did
we calve in the spring but we also had a fall calving group. We ran about four
hundred cows and since we were basically a one man operation there were
times my poor husband had to yield and allow me to help.
Ya know, cowboyin’ ain’t brain surgery,
But it sure takes a bunch of extra smarts
Ta know when ya cain’t ride a mean ol’ bronc
An’ how ta end somethin’ afore it starts.
Ya gots ta be precise in your cuttin’
Of the herd when it comes that time a year—
An’ ya gotta mend them broken wire fences
Ta gets those ol’ Bessie cows ta stay clear.
A cowboy’s gotta make good incisions,
He has ta cut out the bad stock and crew—
An’ if he’s ta be the head trail surgeon,
He’ll have ta stitch up all the squabbles, too!
Cowboyin’ sure nuff ain’t brain surgery,
But ya jest gotta have ya some good hands—
An’ if your own ain’t too clean or steady,
The boys will be ridin’ fer other brands.
An’ when ya sew your handy work all up,
Ya make sure that you leave somethin’ inside—
Cause if cowboyin’ don’t beat within ya,
You’re jest a greenhorn along fer the ride!
BIG HANDS DON
I s’pose I’ve been a cowboy since I was just a ‘teen
But I was herd’n bad guys, see I cowboy’d for the queen
I rode with lots of partners up and down the asphalt trail
Those that cut the corners and those that wouldn’t fail
Some were rough and ready and a few just down right tricky
One sticks in my memories, he’s Big Hands Don Molicki
Now Big Hands wore a smile that surely was no bluff
It didn’t seem to phase him when customers got rough
His presence was imposing, a draft horse in the stable
When muscle was required Big Hands was more than able
He was who ya wanted to back ya in the bar
Or wrestling ornery critters into a police car
But after all the action of solving crime and caper
We’d head back to the office and put it down on paper
Well this is where the smile just melted off his face
His hands were hardly suited for a secretary’s place
Fat fingers on the keyboard, the letters surely flew
But when he’d aim for W he’d hit E S and Q
One late night as he toiled to fix his shift report
The waste pail full beside him with pages he’d abort
His mighty fist then crashed down hard upon the keys
And he cursed so that we knew this wern’t no time to tease
The rest of us were busy putt’n guns and cuffs away
When one went over to him and entered in the frey
He thought his gun unloaded when he aimed at that machine
And said “I’ll solve your troubles” then pulled the trigger clean
We stood there in a dither when we heard that pistol bark
While the bullet pierced the heart of the exclamation mark
When eardrums quit their ringing and smoke commenced to clear
Our minds turned to excuses for the questions sure to hear
When mounties fire their side arms, reports they have to make
We figured this was one we’d probably have to fake
But every new rendition of the lie that we would give
Seemed just about a shaky and water in a sieve
It finally was decided in the middle of the night
We’d call the Sarge and fess-up, not a pretty sight
With courage fully mustered, the Sergeant home in bed
Was told the gruesome details, he asked “ya think it’s dead!!”
The month or so that followed slipped by without no gripin’
Big Hands did all our bull work, we did all his typin’
It always seemed year after year
When Thanksgivin’ time came near—
That Toothie, our ol’ grouch coosie
Fixed chow that was a doozie.
And every year he just swore
Would be better that before—
‘Course it always was just jerky
And not tasty wild turkey!
This year Toothie was diffident—
Swore it would be different—
Got mouths waterin’ fer drumsticks
And no more of his dumb tricks.
And sure ‘nuff on that turkey day,
It was roastin’ right away—
Though it sure looked long and skinny—
We wouldn’t whine or whinny.
Though it did seem to have long ears,
None of us had any fears—
And we belched as was our habit
Though we knew it was jack rabbit!
That feast turned out to be our best
On a campfire I would guess—
Ol’ Toothie sure enough came through
With his roasted ‘turkey’ stew.
So it would be a year again
Till that coosie was our friend—
When he promised again the bird
And we took him on his word!
Don’t worry ‘bout nightly news,
The shootin’, stealin’ and fuss—
Just sweat them big thangs in life—
The news they never tell us!
Don’t worry global warmin’—
Tip yer hats to the ladies—
This twelve below Wyomin’
Feels just like you’s in Hades!
Don’t sweat the world’s agoin’
To heck in a hand baskit—
‘Cause there won’t be no TV
Less it’s right in yer casket
Now back to the question of being a cowboy. I think I’ll try another way. I’ll
compare the job I do to his. Doesn’t that sound like a laugh? I cook for the family,
hired hands, branding and shipping and various cattle work too. Billy kept the
cattle and horses fed, wells working, ice chopped and tanks full the year round.
I’d doctor when accidents or illnesses occur. Billy was an obstetrician, and
pediatrician too. Delivering or doctoring he’d see them through. A veterinary for
cattle and horses in all but emergency cases. I keep our house and bunkhouse
clean. Billy keeps pens in the barn and sheds clean and full of dry bedding. He
keeps the horse stalls mucked out and clean. And of course there is always the
shop. Now lets see I do minor repairs around the house and yard. Billy’s job
includes, keeping tractors, haying equipment and feeding equipment in perfect
working condition. And the windmills going ’round all year long. I go for groceries
and supplies I need for meals and laundry too. Billy plants and harvests the
groceries. For example prairie hay, alfalfa hay, oats and cane and feeds
nutritional supplies like cake, salt and minerals. Where do I go from here? I
know! I do the washing! Drat, he is always washing something when he does the
You know that you’re old as dirt
When ever thang done hurt—
And you trades a cane for quirt
‘Cause you’s too old to flirt.
And when you have to trim hairs
From your nose and your ears—
You done knowed those creepin’ years
Has justified your fears!
It ain’t that you’s gittin’ old
Or Father Time is bold
Or that last crow has done crowed,
It’s jest sittin’ till ya mold!
Old sport, jest what’s the matter?
You ain’t no mad hatter—
You ain’t old, that’s jest blather—
You is jest gittin’ better!
But if time comes a knockin’,
Don’t let it be shockin’—
Don’t with yer tack go hockin’,
You’s jest rollin’, not rockin’!
So when you lose all yer friends
And seems life never ends—
You’ll know ya ain’t on the mends
When ya end up in Depends!
It Started Out With Roy Rogers
Then Moved On To John Wayne
My Family, Loved To Watch ‘Gun Smoke’,
‘The Rifleman’ and ‘Shane’ …
Mine, Were ‘The Big Valley’
‘Bonanza’ And ‘High Chaparral’
Paladin’s, ‘Have Gun Will Travel’
And ‘Rawhide’ and ‘Wagon Train’ Trails
And ‘The Lone Ranger’, ‘Zorro’, and ‘Johnny Ringo’,
‘Bat Masterson’ ‘Branded’, then, ‘Wild, Wild West’ Came
And Oh, How Could I Forget …
Clint Eastwood’s, ‘The Man With No Name’ …
So, ‘Tombstone’, ‘Silverado’, ‘Unforgiven’, ‘Appaloosa’
‘Quick and The Dead’, ‘Wyatt Earp’ and ‘3:10 to Yuma’
All Join The Ranks of Big-Western, Showdown Scenes
and Even ‘F-Troop’ and ‘Blazing Saddles’, Rode Onto My TV Screen
There’s been a lot of speculatin’
‘Bout the cologne some cowboys wear,
And the toothpaste and the sweet mouthwash
And the way he combs his long hair!
I’s here to clear up the confusion
‘Bout these gallant ol’ equine gents—
And tell ya the gall dern ol’ stark truth,
That will make fer good cowboy sense.
Cowboy toothpaste is black gunpowder
And his mouthwash is rye whiskey—
But we’ll never know ‘bout his cologne
‘Cause getting’ close is too risky!
And if on the subject of hygiene,
He remains silent as a sphinx—
Ya better chaw ya some strong garlic
To cover up the fact he stinks!
Don’t git me wrong on my conclusion,
When some ol’ cowboy smells like rot—
‘Cause others take a bath once a month,
Whether they dern needs it or not!
Cowboys don’t fear the coyote,
he just yips and yowls,
But the wolf is another story,
your blood chills when he howls.
And a panther, will stalk you,
even in the dark,
And a bear, when he catches you,
will tear you clean apart.
The best thing about a snake bite,
is it kills you pretty quick,
And those “under a rock crawlies”,
their bite will make you deathly sick.
But the most vicious of the critters,
the one every Cowboy fears,
Inflicts a type of torture,
that can leave grown men in tears.
With a bite so excruciating,
it will make you wish that you were dead,
And there’s nothing more terrifying,
than when it raises it’s ugly head.
It attacks without warning,
it’s cold-hearted and just plain mean,
It considers all men prey,
and will any one that’s seen.
The suffering, is lingering,
and to this very day,
There’s no cure or medication,
that can take the pain away.
It’s just the size of a pin point,
and it don’t get much bigger,
But I’ve seen Cowboys brought to their knees,
by the savage bite, of the Chigger.
There ain’t never been much love ‘twixt them two out on the range—
Seems cowmen has always thought that them sheepherders were strange.
Then one day in rides a poke by the name of Tom Campbell—
What’s lookin’ for a job, if some outfit likes to gamble.
The foreman asked him straight out what is his experience—
He says he done some sheep herdin’ and he can mend a fence.
Well, that foreman was Bob Barkley – ‘bout tough a man there is—
He nods his head – says Jake will show him which remuda’s his.
Seems things went hunky-dory and there weren’t no call for lip—
Tom caught on fast, knew his stuff – but still smelt like ol’ sheep dip!
Then one night out of the blue, Tom tells us all he’s a Scot—
He’s proud of his heritage and the long blood line he’s got.
But it’s best some thing’s are left undone – they can make you wilt—
Yet what was Tom thinkin’ when next mornin’ he wore his kilt?!
They’s no prejudice in that bunch, but I sure confesses—
We ain’t too keen ‘bout them cowboys what likes to wear dresses!
Then big Bob Barkley - it seems he goes and blows a gasket—
And we is all sure Tom is headin’ for a pine casket!
“Manly cowpokes just don’t wear skirts!” Big Bob he yelled real vexed—
Then he kicked ol’ Tom’s tail bone from one mountain to the next!
Tom - he lived - though he limps from a break in his lower back—
But there sure enough is one certain thing that he does lack.
Tom done learned his lesson as he stares through the campfire smoke—
If something’s already fixed, don’t flaunt it or it’ll get broke!
And Barkley – he turned odd and wears Tom’s kilt like a scalped hide—
Sayin’ it’s how he keeps in touch with his feminine side!
Ol’ Prickly was dead, shot down with hot lead, and all of his friends did grieve—
But so it now seems, they fell for his schemes – he owned money before he did leave.
“In that dern cuss, I put all my trust,” said Rod, “but he up and dies just like that—
He borrowed my horse and my saddle, of course, and now he’s still wearin’ my hat!”
“He promised to marry,” cried sweet little Sherry, “he told me I was the only one.
But at the wake hall as I started to bawl, in walks three wives, ten daughters and a
Now I ain’t got no truck in yer bad luck,” said a tall man to all of Pete’s ex’s—
“But that dern dead ol’ Pete tied me up real neat by sellin’ me half of Texas!”
“Oh, please,” the pastor begged on his knees, “can we not speak ill of the dead?
Surely there was good in this misunderstood cowboy whose life has now fled?!”
But an hour was fleet as they spoke of ol’ Pete, who lived by the lie and the gun—
Hearin’ more tales of Pete’s travails, the preach screams, “Let’s burn this dirty ol’
Then just in a bit, as their torches were lit, sweet little Sherry faints in a swoon—
For sittin’ in the casket like fruit in a basket, Pete says, its jest a flesh wound!”
Then he done said, “All reports of me bein’ dead, has done been exaggerated—
I seen Saint Pete before, but he warn’t no cure and ol’ death is over-rated!”
They chased Pete alone from the funeral home and he’s never been seen again,
But no one did care, just so he wasn’t there – he claimed no kith, kin or friend.
So it goes to show if you’re dyin’ to go, its better you take enough lead—
‘Cause if your name’s Pete, life ain’t complete until they’re sure you’re stone dead!
The subject was dropped, but when Billy went out on the next run I
was with him. And sure enough, there was number thirty-nine proudly showing
off her precious little boy. Billy just shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
Oh how I love spring! The renewal of life and memories.
They say if you drop yer bacon,
You don’t have to wind up the fool—
You jest pick it up, not fakin’—
It’s what’s called the five-second rule!
And it works all the same you see,
Fer tabacky juiced grass hoppers—
Ya wipe ‘em off clean as can be—
If talkin’, you lose yer choppers!
But if you don’t clean ‘em good there,
I guess maybe you should try it—
Unless you don’t mind that horse hair
Addin’ fiber to yer diet!
I mind that rule now like some hag—
In less than five seconds I try—
To pick up my teeth or I gag,
When it falls in some fresh cow pie!
To make this timely tale complete,
The sad endin’ to this is plain:
Brush after each meal that you eat—
‘Cause gummin’ beef jerky’s a pain!
It was back in '89 when I worked the Rockin' B,
That they hired a large cowpuncher that we called Big Smalley.
I reckon that ol' cowboy musta went 'bout six foot nine--
And to our suprise was the mildest waddie you could find.
It warn't he never got mad--it jest took a good long while--
After he wupped a cowboy or two, he'd have a great big smile.
But he had strange habits and his thinkin' was right off beat--
Yet the one thing we had in common--he sure did like to eat.
Big Smalley was so huge that horses groaned when he got on--
He weighted 350 and that didn't make cookie too fond
Of tryin' to cook enough to keep him and eight cowpokes fed,
After days of drivin' cows through valleys and watersheds.
Then Big Smalley he done went and surprised us all agin,
When one night he told us that he was a vegetarian.
Well, we told him his religion was between him and God--
Then that ol' puncher got mad as a wild cow on the prod.
He called us ignorant ol' cowboys that didn't know dirt--
That's when us eight waddies done put 'em to the hurt.
I gotta give it to Smalley, he put up one heck of a fight--
But with eight ol' raw-bone cowpunchers it was soon goodnight.
Well, Big Smalley didn't have much to say come the break of day--
He jest sort of grunted at chuck and pushed the bacon away.
After a few weeks, Smalley hired on with another crew--
But he didn't get the joke, now he's ridin' fer the Bar B-Q!
They’s a popular misconception
‘Bout cowboys and their ol’ boots—
Some say they wants ta die with ‘em on,
When they’s dead from cuts or shoots!
It gits a feller ta wonderin’
Jest what’s the fuss all about—
And why their boots is so important
When they is done carried out.
Well, if ya ever smelt cowboy’s feet,
It’s somethin’ ya don’t fergit—
That odor is gall dern plum rotten—
Smells like a bad pile of grit!
So if ya wonder why them cowpokes
Keeps boots on like kings chosen—
It’s ‘cause their feet smells dead already
Like they’s been decomposin’!
The old man rode forth once more like many a day before,
To ride this land that was all his until he could no more.
They say youth is wasted on the young and savored when old—
But you don’t see the truth till you’re too senile to be told.
So the old man rode forth that day with wind that tugged his hair—
Until he came to a mountain and rested his horse there.
He thought back on the things he’d seen and it sure had been fine—
Then knew his life was not done. Hell! He was just ninety-nine
Rodeo Roy was a buckaroo boy,
A buckaroo boy was he—
Bulls and horses determined his courses—
They say he was only three!
Rodeo Roy never found his true joy,
Until he was all of ten—
He learned to chaw just like his dear ol’ paw,
Till he gulped and lost his grin!
He shot the bull until he was plum full
And had to prove he’s a man—
He rode longhorns till he bucked in the thorns,
But he showed he had the sand!
He wrestled steers till they came out his ears
And threw a good houlihan—
He rode bad broncs and took him some hard knocks—
But his life was never bland.
Rodeo Roy had to seek new employ—
It seemed he had done it all—
Sioux City Sal then soon became his gal
And that’s how ol’ Roy did fall!
Sioux did allow Roy into her corral,
But he’s the one that got caught.
Rodeo Roy has a buckaroo boy—
He’s changin’ diapers like he ought!
When the mortgage comes due
And you ain’t got a dime
And the new calf turns blue
As you’re wipin’ ‘way slime…
And the pond’s all dried up
From this dang five-year drought,
And your dog had twelve pups
While your wife’s got the gout…
And the price of lamb mutt
Falls clear through the floor—
As the biggest pork butt
Turns out to be yours…
The truck’s seen better days
And the cattle guard don’t—
As the north fence just lays,
But your chickens sure won’t!
And your maw chaws Red Man—
Your sis is a marine.
Your brother’s turned vegan,
But he still won’t eat a bean.
The herd has that “Mad Cow,”
Your horses have gone wild—
You’re bein’ sued right now
By your own dern love child!
And while these things all hurt,
Your dad says he likes MEN!
That he’s been wearin’ skirts
Since he don’t right know when!
Then your wife runs away
With your best pard, ol’ Jim,
And you’re just not okay,
‘Cause you sure do miss HIM!
Don’t let it get you down—
This might be your last chance—
Keep your boots on the ground—
That’s just life on the ranch!
His old pickup truck was parked in front of Kevins Bar again.
While he sat inside drinking with an old time friend.
As he got up to pay his tab he noticed something wasn’t right.
He turned around and there he stood looking for a fight.
Well old cowboy wasn’t no where the meanest man around.
But when it comes to tough, he’s the toughest in our town.
As the fight broke loose the stranger hit old cowboy with a cue.
Old cowboy grabbed that stranger by the face and then the blood it flew.
They danced around a little while, till cowboy set him up.
Then he popped him between his eyes and slapped him like a pup.
The stranger there was looking weak and I think he had his fill.
But old cowboy said when you mess with me you’re gonna pay the bill.
He grabbed the stranger by the neck and headed for the door.
He put his boot in his behind and left him on the floor.
Monday nights are always slow as cowboy left the scene.
Old cowboys dog sat in the seat licking himself clean.
Scoot on over you no good for nothing worthless old mutt.
Let’s go home and get something to eat as he patted his old gut.
Don’t know what it is about fighting but it sure brings on my appetite.
As he cranked up that old pickup truck and headed off into the night.
I’ve been known to buck a bale or two in my day
And I’ve loved a gal or a few and rode away.
I’ve dug up taters for just a dollar a day—
I’ve clerked in stores and let the boss man have his say.
There’s few ‘round here that ain’t had me in their employ—
But like I’ve always said: “Heck, I ain’t no cowboy!”
They say soldiers is heroes – I gave it a try—
I lost use of an arm and saw too many die.
But I ain’t no whiner and I never did quit—
I’m big and raw-boned and I don’t care one darned bit
What others may think on the range or back in town—
I’m just a simple ol’ soul that ain’t too profound.
I’ve busted some chops and broke me some wild broncs—
Bruised butts and cracked heads in some crazy honkytonks—
I’ve wrote me poems about the West and its joy—
But like I’ve always said: “Heck, I ain’t no cowboy.”
And though I’m downtrodden and may live in two worlds—
I savor a coon dog and still love all the girls.
I’ll leave with my ol’ hat and a pair of good boots—
A twelve-gauge shotgun and an ol’ Colt that still shoots.
You can bury me in town or out on the range—
‘Cause both of them is just fine and neither is strange—
Don’t belly-up to my pine box or act too coy—
Just tell the blamed ol’ truth: “Heck, he weren’t no cowboy.”
That Woody wanted to see me ASAP,
So we done met near downtown at the KFC.
He says he wants to tell me something FYI,
About some new TFB sorta cowboy guy.
“TFB?” I asks, “You talkin’ ‘bout an IOU
Or that BYOB barn dance the boss done threw?”
“Naw,” says Wood, “TFB means tumbleweeds for brains—
I guess you fills the bill if I has to explains!”
“Cowboy,” says I, “does you sees my FIST?
Well, I’m here to tell you its for a smart SOB
That thinks talkin’ in letters is on the QT,
When all it will get is a stone carved RIP!”
Wood took out runnin’ without my RSVP,
Hopped in his SUV like a rock star on MTV.
He headed back to the ranch through BLM land
With me right behind ‘em – was more than he could stand!
I trailed ‘em to Tombstone and that OK Corral
And when I caught ‘em, I was gonna show ‘em how
My ol’ tumbleweeds for brains done brung me so far
And just why he was gonna soon need CPR!
But his mouth was movin’ a hundred RPM—
Afraid I was gonna then and there do ‘em in!
“Now, Stoney,” he says, “on one point we do agree,
I was just speakin’ plain and not bein’ PC!”
Then ‘fore I hauls back my fist and he has a BM,
I gets to thinkin’ how he had always been a friend.
Well, we had done been the best pards before this mess—
So we just shook hands and called it male PMS!
Some say a cowboy’s ways is just too dramatic—
That he has a tough time bein’ diplomatic!
He may be ornery and a bit wild, ol’ son—
Unlike the UN or congress – he gets things done!
Liberals say with sneers that cowboys ain’t PC—
That bein’ honest is cowboy diplomacy.
But I’d rather be cowboy and speak my own mind,
Than a pile of what politicians leave behind!
I’m tired of hearin’ that anything cowboy’s bad—
We uphold fine traditions – that’s what makes me sad.
Ol’ cowboys and the West will never die away—
As long as cowboy diplomacy saves our day!
When you know you’re startin’ to get old—
Set in your ways and more thrifty—
Your poor ol’ joints just keep on achin’
As your mind starts gettin’ “drifty.”
When you gain weight and wrinkle all up,
Then you know you’re pushin’ fifty!
You’re smokin’ more and likin’ it less—
Eatin’ too many them French fries—
Then some poke says your pushin’ SIXTY—
But ol’ cowboys don’t tell no lies!
You’re not a talkin’ ‘bout your old age,
Just explainin’ ‘bout your waist size!
Ol’ Pete he had a new gal friend that he wanted to prank—
His idear was to shoot her silhouette like Buckskin Frank!
It was Frank Leslie that first shot holes all around his girl—
So Pete thought he’d do it too or at least give it a whirl!
But what he did not count on was the mettle of that dame—
After he pulled his little trick, he never was the same!
He did not know her fuse was short and she practiced with knives—
And that her list of beaus was long and how most lost their lives!
So when he commenced to shootin’ round his new love, Molly,
She done started throwin’ knives and ‘bout clipped him, by golly!
Pete learned his lesson as she sat down and played piano—
As he pulled out knives thrown south that near made him soprano.
And Prickly swore that nevermore would he shoot at his mate—
At least not wives that packed sharp knives and would likely castrate!
Since the spring saw us calving out fifty or more first time heifers it
was a lot more important to have help from a night herder. Well I fit that bill. Billy
had all the daily work and to give him a nights sleep (except for emergencies) I
became Dr. # two. Since I wasn’t very busy, we only had four young ones, I didn’t
need to worry about missing any sleep, I could make it up during the daytime
when I wasn’t busy. Did I mention our four little ones? During these years I can
only remember one time I had to wake him for assistance.
The fall was less hectic because the feeding had not begun. There
were years Billy helped the neighbors with harvest chores and it was up to me to
watch the springers. I had graduated to taxi driver by then, for our school kids, so
stepping in during times when Billy was off working for the neighbors wasn’t any
problem. This one year I was on duty again. I had made the rounds about five-
thirty and was busy finishing meal preparations when Billy got home. I asked if
he had checked the cows. He said he had. I asked if number thirty-nine had her
calf yet. “ She’s not ready yet,” was his reply. “Yes she is,” I insisted. “No she
isn’t. What makes you think she is ready?” he asked. “You can just tell by
looking at her,” I came back. “Number seventy-two is closer than thirty-nine,” he
stated. “I don’t know what you are seeing,” he grumbled as he drank his
tea. “You can tell just by the look in her eye. She’s ready to have her calf. It‘s
clear to see you never had a baby.” “Mom I thought you knew by now, you are
looking at the wrong end,” he said as I set supper on the table and the kids came
from all directions. “She looked at me the same way I looked at all the nurses
and Dr. when I was waiting for ours to be born. Get this thing out of here!”
They buck and jump and belly roll—
Throw a lariat of snot—
They twist and throw them big ol’ horns
With everything they got!
They’re Bodacious, Yellow Jacket—
The world’s best bull buckin’ stock—
They’re Werewolf Snuff, Blueberry Wine,
Dillinger and that Kid Rock!
They put the bucks in bull ridin’—
Rode by cowboys with no fear—
Got B.J. Kramps and Chris Shivers—
I’m just glad I’m sittin’ here!
And if I’d been a bull rider—
I’d rode those big bulls it seems—
But I like this ol’ rockin’ chair—
Still dreamin’ bull ridin’ dreams!
Willie Nelson broke our hearts
When he sang ‘bout them broke backs—
He should of stuck to cowboy
Heroes and that’s the derned facts.
Hoppy and Roy are turnin’
In their earthly deposits—
‘Cause of all them gay cowboys
Comin’ out of their closets.
If cowboys start prancin’ strange
And act like they is insane—
We’ll blame it all on Willie
If they don’t walk like John Wayne!
Now, parts of Missouri is fertile
And they grow a right hefty crop—
But others is downright pitiful
And is good fer cows and hog slop.
It seems to the south and very heart,
In that now beautiful Ozark land—
The earth is plum full of dad-blame rocks—
More than a sane farmer can stand!
And it seems that the more that you dig,
All the more pops up to yer eye—
Jest like you were raisin’ rock babies
That continues to multiply!
So you keep on diggin’ them all up
Till your back does begin to hurt—
And you know you best stick to cattle
On this here ol’ Missouri dirt!
The cowboys came in for supper,
they were hungry as they could be.
Dusted off their pants with their hats.
hung their spurs upon the tree.
They washed their hands and face
in the tub out on the porch.
"Beans and cornbread again?" Buck muttered
"I sure wish we had some corn."
Buck saw in the mid of the table.
there set a great big bowl of corn,
steaming hot with lots of butter
well peppered, and yellow as the sun.
His mouth half-full, Buck asked the cook-
"Where did you buy this corn?
It is the first thing you cooked right
from the day that you were born."
"I didn't buy it", barked the cook
"Its wild corn and it's free,
There's a little patch growing down the hill
Where the outhouse use to be."
There are dude’s questions in this world
That gives a cowboy a fit—
Like why is he missin’ digits?
Or what makes a cowboy spit!?
And there are those tender subjects
He just don’t care for a whit—
Those dern aggravatin’ questions
He just don’t care for a bit!
Like why is it you’re bow-legged?
And why’s your horse got a bit?
And why do cowboys smell that way—
It makes him want to just quit!
Why do cowboys wear those high heels?
And do they all have true grit?
Dern! It gets a feller riled up—
It just makes him want to … spit!
But those days are all forgiven—
And our throats we have not slit—
We’re workin’ now for a dude ranch
And it’s the dudes turn to spit!
I hold the hair of my lady near—
That in the sweet spring breeze does blow,
As I softly whisper in her ear
Of love only a few can know.
Some say that our passion should not be,
That it’s something not natural—
But it will last as long as the sea—
Hand in hand by the old corral.
I can’t help but love her equine nose
As we sashay ‘midst all the poop—
Her breath is fresh as dew-touched rose,
Though her big, blank fish eyes do droop.
And if our love does seem a might coarse,
Reckon I’s just a cowboy lout—
I’s talkin’ ‘bout my gal, NOT my horse—
She’s just not much to write home about!
You know you been too long at life’s ol’ rodeo,
When them jeans get too tight and that ol’ paunch does grow—
And then your teeth fall out instead of bein’ knocked
And you pay entry fees with prize buckles you hocked.
That’s when they call you Curly ‘cause you ain’t got hair,
Except in your ears and nose where they’s lot to spare!
Then sittin’ on wood fences is what you avoids,
‘Cause like as not they’ll flare up your ol’ hemoroids!
Buckin’ bulls and broncs is something way in your past,
Rockin’ chairs and Lazy Boys now make your life last.
So now instead of hard tack, you’d rather just pass—
Eatin’ hot, spicy grub just seems to give you gas.
You done been far too long at life’s ol’ rodeo,
You’d rather watch TV than help a horse to foal—
You ain’t cowboy if you quit chewin’ your toback—
Might as well hock your saddle and all your dern tack.
So if you sit on porches waitin’ for your God—
Better get off your duff before you get the nod!
‘Cause that boss in the sky don’t want no so-and-so,
What ain’t least down there watchin’ life’s ol’ rodeo!