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Cowboy Name Poems | Cowboy Poems About Name

These Cowboy Name poems are examples of Cowboy poems about Name. These are the best examples of Cowboy Name poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Cowboy | |

Call Me Tex

When I was just a teenage lad, and growing up out west
I never wore a cowboy hat or fancy leather vest
Never put on cowboy boots or western shirts with snaps
Never wore tooled leather belts, much less a pair of chaps

To be in style the Ivy League was what one wore to school
A skinny tie and button-down was how you dressed up cool
We wore Weejun penny loafers and tapered chino slacks
The boys all sported flattops, kept up straight with wax

Rock and roll and sock hops, my dance was then the twist
Cotton-eyed Joe and two-step didn't even make the list
Good ol' Willie Nelson could hardly make a sound
'Cause the King and Frank Sinatra were the coolest guys around

But when I joined the service, and moved outside the state
It didn't matter where I went or if I spoke my name out straight
For a while I thought I had some kind of omnipresent hex
'Cause when I was outside Texas, they'd always call me Tex
When I said over yonder, they'd all say “Over... Where?”
When I talked about a horny toad, I'd get a funny stare
It didn't matter if my name was Buck or Roy or Rex
'Cause when I was outside Texas, they'd always call me Tex

When they shipped me overseas, I thought that I would die
Couldn't get a Dr. Pepper there, or any Frito pie
When I wanted longneck Lone Stars, all they had was Beck's
And all those Europeans would always call me Tex
Any label kind of burned me, so right then I made the call
I'd learn to talk just like those guys, to hide my Texas drawl
I practiced on my diction, with elocution persevered
And soon the sideways looks and grins had finally disappeared

I traveled all around the world, got married overseas
Learned myself a few more tongues and got a few degrees
Now if I talk to British lords or English-speaking Czechs
When I masticate the lingo, they never call me Tex

Finally made it home one day, after way too many years
Came back to salute old pals and maybe share some beers
I wondered how the touch of time had treated all those lads
To my surprise, those preppy guys had all turned into their dads

Each one wore a cowboy hat and dandy leather vest
Some sported a bandana, some with bola ties were dressed
Some shod those M.L. Leddy boots with fancy pull-on straps
Each had a set of bootcut jeans and western shirts with snaps

Something then came over me, something that felt right
I heard my voice inside me say "Well boys, ain't y'all a sight!”
That educated accent that I'd worked so hard to gain
Had evaporated quicker than a light West Texas rain

I guess that you can travel, and learn lots of fancy stuff
But with friends who knew you when, there's no way that you can bluff
They might be polite with you, and humor you no doubt 
But you're better off to cut it loose and let it all hang out

They all let out a holler, yelling “Waitress bring the checks!
Give 'em to that ugly hombre yonder with the handle Tex.”
Now if I were any other place, I'd likely wring their necks
But when I'm home in Texas, then you can call me Tex

Details | Cowboy | |


   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