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 dress the way I do on stage
To transport you to another age
Where wild women of the west
Proved they stood among the best
They rode boot to boot along side the men
Riding broncs to hell & back again
They wore skirts, jodhpurs, flowers & frills
Had more than their share of thrills & spills
When you see me here, I hope you recall
Those women who rode proud & tall
Tad Lucas on Midnight, crow hopping & smiling
Fox Hastings, in feathers & flowers, beguiling
Mitzi Lucas Riley, her death defying grace
On galloping horse, a suicide drag, & mesmerizing face
Marge Greenough on Boxer, that gal could really fly
Nancy Sheppard with her spinning ropes, gravity defied
On the day to day, I wear a different look
Still different from those Cowboys you see in picture books
Dusty boots, faded jeans & a cowboy hat, of course
If I dressed the way I do on stage it would amuse my horse
I grew up in the Wild West, or what there is of it now
I learned to ride at an early age & know my way around a cow
I don’t have a need for wooly chaps, my shotguns work just dandy
If I wore woolies, the cactus would soon look like cotton candy
My childhood heroes included those dazzling rodeo gals
I spent many a Saturday morning as Roy & Dale’s Saddle Pal
But the role models that I still look up to today
Have quietly gone about their lives, living the Cowboy way
There’s Georgie Sicking, still going strong in Kaycee
As tough as they come, she always demands the best from me
Sister Bourne, her laughing eyes & ready wit
For forty years taught in one room schools, in her there was no quit
There are many others who have helped me along the way
Their stories are for another time, another place & day
Today I’ll weave for you a tapestry of Western Rhyme
Of rodeo’n, romanc’n & remember’n & a simpler time
There is magic in the West, I find it every where
It is that magic & my memories, that with you I will share
So settle in & enjoy the ride, for I know I have brought my best
As I stand here on this stage, a Wild Woman of the West
Through red curtains
I want strong walls
In the night
I hit hammer
In the night I hear
I pivot for you
This is fine, it is nice.
In world I set my fortress
If time is cold and winter ice,
This place I make,
Hell is hold
As old to oil
In breath I calm
In work I play
To fly by day
To speak night
With stone in hand
Last Freedom Fighters
They fought battles to conquer and spread the good news, it became a mighty
state, ports open to all refugees, hard men building a new world for the next
generation to travel, trading their souls for possessions to conquer these foreign
Hidden agenda was not known yet, our red brothers gave us warnings of
many coming, our spirits calling to form a tribal union, speaking of the old days. A
white calf will be born, our corn will burn from the sun rays, smoke rising to the
stars, echo’s from the great chief, a war painted warrior speaking truth to the last
tribe, our homes were yesterday paths, our children do not speak our language,
the old sit on broken stumps not on our women woven rugs.
Sorrow comes rushing in as the pendulum swings, dividing lands between
the waters. Broken arrows burns their hearts, the teeth of the great wolf licks its
prey, waiting in the dark den, an image of timeless tales. Unknown visitors came
upon our lands and brought with them this great destruction to our pastures,
many warriors now lay in scared burial grounds, they took our women and laid
besides them making them slaves.
Our smoke clouds bringing visions, the red fox forewarns about a massacre,
ones that carry the pocked marked faces, yellow hairs that rode broken mares.
It’s now there fate to give back these grounds that belonged to us, we stand tall
knowing the fate of the last freedom fighter, they will go down to the valleys and
lay besides our own. Our eagle soars and the black bears speaks, its upon our
lands that we stood by the waters which turned into red rivers, the mountains
shake bringing down the snow, the animals hide, the dark cloud is coming by the
hands of great men, they too shall melt with the rising sun.
They came to us slowly
in ones and twos at first.
They were men with good hearts
and lived with earth as one;
Lived as we live, one with the four legged,
two legged – all the spirits of our world
They brought many things to trade;
knives of iron, that our women treasure,
Thunder sticks that kill from
further that an arrow can fly.
They brought cloth of bright colors
that our women sew into clothes for us.
They brought sugar and tea to change
our diet of buffalo and berries
Then more came.
They came with bad hearts.
They brought firewater.
Our minds were as dizzy as our steps
and the earth danced before our eyes.
The black robes came and gave us their religion.
Strange since they do not practice his teachings.
They brought the spotted sickness
that kills our people.
They came and killed the buffalo
and left the bodies to rot on the earth.
They came like a swarm of insects,
devouring everything in their path.
They came and took our land
and gave us heartbreak.
The sacred hoop is broken
And I cannot go home…