Cowboy Poems and Songs

[Delmonico]

Got an idea here, kinda like the Kubaya thread, but fer fun lets make this only Cowboy Poe-8-tree and songs, no cheatin' and slippin' in a Country song or no Rock and Roll. 

I listen to this stuff all day at work and wish I could hook up so ya could listen also.

Since this is all in fun, if the song or poem don't meet the Cowboy/Western muster, we'll give ya the thumbs down.

I got the sterriooo on random and it just played this on, I think we all here can relate to this one by Dan Roberts.

           
 There's a Little Cowboy in All of Us
 
Hey daddy please help me I sure need a hand
you see I'm saddling up but my pony won't stand
he's backed in the corner and he's kickin' the wall
but since mom moved that toy box he’s a little too tall
With his boots on the wrong feet and his holster tied low
Saddlebag, saddle and a blankie bedroll
a little toy rifle he made from a broom
he'll ride cross the prairie right there in his room
 
Chorus
And in his mind he's out driving a herd toward the rail
headed north out of Texas on the old Chisholm Trail
I'd love to ride with him but that pony might bust
cause there's a little cowboy in all of us
 
I said son where you headed, he answered out west
well there's word they need riders on the pony express
hey I might be a scout, dad, or a sheriff on TV
any outfit can use a top hand like me
Well I told him be careful don't die hard and fast
take a deep seat if you’re riding into the past
he said I'll be back by supper, bedtime almost
He grabbed the reins, pulled his hat down, and he waved adios
 
Chorus
And in his mind he's out driving a herd toward the rail
headed north out of Texas on the old Chisholm Trail
I'd love to ride with him go stir up some dust
cause there's a little cowboy in all of us
you know as I step from his world back into my own
I thought we're no different, he might be little, and I'm grown
but we both dream ‘bout places that neither one of us have ever been
heck I'm four and forty, and I'm still playing pretend
 
Chorus
I wish I was out driving a herd toward the rail
headed north out of Texas on the old Chisholm Trail
I'll bury my new spurs in the ground till they rust
There's not a little cowboy in all of us
Just a little cowboy in all of us                         

[Arcey]

Angels Can Do No More

We laid young Sammy to his rest.
Dug a deep hole and we did our best
To say the right things as we knocked the dirt from the shovels
So far from God ‘n so near to a life of trouble

No more than a boy but he died like a man
We stood around the grave with our hats in our hands
Leaning first on one foot ‘n then the other
Wishing to know what to say to write to his mother

But there ain’t much to say when a man dies young
‘Fore he could do what he shouldah done
Least ways the cowboys knowed him swore.
Sammy done his damnedest
Angels can do no more

We stared at our boots
Nobody spoke
‘Til the trail boss coughed ‘n he cleared his throat

I heard him tell the cook
Tear a plank off the chuckwagon
Bring it here to mark the grave of our young companion

So, the wranglers built a fire outtah dry prairie coal
The wind fanned the flames ‘til the brandin’ irons glowed
‘N we burnt in the wood the words we shouldah been sayin’
Down on our knees like a group of grown men prayin’

Chorus

Sammy rode hard ‘n he never complained
Two long years on the Rockin’ Chair Range
Chasin’ them strays down the south fork of the Red River

Angels’ ‘n cowboys’ werk
It goes on forever.

As for me
When it’s my time to die
I hope there’s a cowhand or two standin’ by
To pack down the dirt ‘n take the news to my family

Say over me what we should have said over Sammy

Chorus

[Delmonico]

 The Old Dutch Oven

Some sigh for cooks of boyhood days, but none of them for me;
One roundup cook was best of all — ’t was with the X-Bar-T.
And when we heard the grub-pile call at morning, noon, and night,
The old Dutch oven never failed to cook the things just right.

‘T was covered o’er with red-hot coals, and when we fetched her out,
The biscuits there were of the sort no epicure would flout.
I ain’t so strong for boyhood grub, ’cause, summer, spring, or fall,
The old Dutch oven baked the stuff that tasted best of all.

Perhaps ’t was ’cause our appetites were always mighty sharp —
The men who ride the cattle range ain’t apt to kick or carp;
But, anyway, I find myself a-dreaming of that bread
The old Dutch oven baked for us beneath those coals so red.

[Advertising]

[Delmonico]

A Bad Half Hour

Wonder why I feel so restless;
    Moon is shinin' still and bright,
Cattle all is restin' easy,
    But I just kain't sleep tonight.
Ain't no cactus in my blankets,
    Don't know why they feel so hard—
'Lesst it's Warblin' Jim a-singin'
    "Annie Laurie" out on guard.

"Annie Laurie"— wish he'd quit it!
    Couldn't sleep now if I tried.
Makes the night seem big and lonesome
    And my throat feels sore inside.
How my Annie used to sing it!
    And it sounded good and gay.
Nights I drove her home from dances
    When the east was turning gray.

Yes, "her brow was like the snowdrift"
    And her eyes like quiet streams,
"And her face" — I still can see it
    Much too frequent in my dreams;
And her hand was soft and trembly
    That night underneath the tree,.
When I couldn't help but tell her
    She was "all the world to me."

But her folks said I was "shif'less,"
    "Wild," "unsettled.,"— they was right,
For I leaned to punchin' cattle
    And I'm at it still tonight.
And she married young Doc Wilkins—
    Oh my Lord! but that was hard!
Wish that fool would quit his singin'
    "Annie Laurie" out on guard.

Oh I just kaint stand it thinkin;
    Of the things that happened then.
Good old times, and all apast me!
    Never seem to come again—
My turn? Sure.  I'll come a runnin'.
    Warm me up some coffee, pard—
But I'll stop that Jim from singin'
    "Annie Laurie" out on guard.

[Trinity]

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze,
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees,
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in.

Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle
Underneath the western skies.
On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder
Till I see the mountains rise.

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And I can't look at hovels and I can't stand fences
Don't fence me in.

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in

Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle
Underneath the western skies
On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder
Till I see the mountains rise.
Ba boo ba ba boo.

I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences
And gaze at the moon till I lose my senses
And I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences
Don't fence me in.
No.
Poppa, don't you fence me in

[Tensleep]

Ridin'

There is some that like the city—
    Grass that's curried smooth and green,
Theaytres and stranglin' collars,
    Wagons run by gasoline—
But for me it's hawse and saddle
    Every day without a change,
And a desert sun a-blazin'
    On a hundred miles of range.

    Just a-ridin', a-ridin'—
        Desert ripplin' in the sun,
    Mountains blue among the skyline—
        I don't envy anyone
            When I'm ridin'.

When my feet is in the stirrups
And my hawse is on the bust,
With his hoofs a-flashin' lightnin'
From a cloud of golden dust,
And the bawlin' of the cattle
Is a-comin' down the wind
Then a finer life than ridin'
Would be mighty hard to find.

    Just a-ridin', a-ridin'—
        Splittin' long cracks through the
            air,
    Stirrin' up a baby cyclone,
        Rippin' up the prickly pear
            As I'm ridin'.

I don't need no art exhibits
    When the sunset does her best,
Paintin' everlastin' glory
    On the mountains to the west
And your opery looks foolish
    When the night-bird starts his tune
And the desert's silver mounted
    By the touches of the moon.

    Just a-ridin', a-ridin'—
        Who kin envy kings and czars
    When the coyotes down the valley
        Are a singin' to the stars,
            If he's ridin'?

When my earthly trail is ended
    And my final bacon curled
And the last great roundup's finished
    At the Home Ranch of the world
I don't want no harps nor haloes
    Robes nor other dressed up things—
Let me ride the starry ranges
    On a pinto hawse with wings!

    Just a-ridin', a-ridin'—
        Nothin' I'd like half so well
    As a-roundin' up the sinners
        That have wandered out of Hell,
            And a-ridin'     

[Tensleep]

The Glory Trail
(High-Chin Bob)

'Way high up the Mogollons,
    Among the mountain tops,
A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones
    And licked his thankful chops,
When on the picture who should ride,
    A-trippin' down a slope,
But High-Chin Bob, with sinful pride
     And mav'rick hungry rope.

"Oh, glory be to me," says he,
    "And fame's unfadin' flowers!
All meddlin' hands are far away;
I ride my good top-hawse today
And I'm top-rope of the Lazy J—
    Hi! kitty-cat, you're ours!"

That lion licked his paw so brown
    And dreamed soft dreams of veal—
And then the circlin' loop swung down
    And roped him 'round his meal.
He yowled quick fury to the world
    Till all the hills yelled back;
The top-hawse gave a snort and whirled
    And Bob caught up the slack.

"Oh, glory be to me," laughs he.
    "We hit the glory trail.
No human man as I have read
Darst loop a ragin' lion's head,
Nor ever hawse could drag one dead
    Until we told the tale."

'Way high up the Mogollons
    That top-hawse done his best,
Through whippin' brush and rattlin' stones,
    From canyon-floor to crest.
But ever when Bob turned and hoped
    A limp remains to find,
A red-eyed lion, belly roped
    But healthy, loped behind.

"Oh, glory be to me," grunts he.
    "This glory trail is rough,
Yet even till the Judgment Morn
I'll keep this dally 'round the horn,
For never any hero born
    Could stoop to holler: ''Nuff!'"

Three suns had rode their circle home
    Beyond the desert's rim,
And turned their star-herds loose to roam
    The ranges high and dim;
Yet up and down and 'round and 'cross
    Bob pounded, weak and wan,
For pride still glued him to his hawse
    And glory drove him on.

"Oh, glory be to me," sighs he.
    "He kain't be drug to death,
But now I know beyond a doubt
Them heroes I have read about
Was only fools that stuck it out
    To end of mortal breath."

'Way high up the Mogollons
    A prospect man did swear
That moon dreams melted down his bones
    And hoisted up his hair:
A ribby cow-hawse thundered by,
    A lion trailed along,
A rider, ga'nt but chin on high,
    Yelled out a crazy song.

"Oh, glory be to me!" cries he,
    "And to my noble noose!
Oh, stranger, tell my pards below
I took a rampin' dream in tow,
And if I never lay him low,
    I'll never turn him loose!"

[litl rooster]

  Good deal here Del.  Shocking even Trinity had one......Next you'll be telling me Lucky Irish Tom's got one    I nu'de ya could count on Ten and Arcey

[Silver Creek Slim]

Thanks, fellars.
I might have to post one or two.

Slim

[Sod Buster]

STAMPEDE
(Chris Ledoux)

We made camp along Red River
Watched the cattle as they bedded down
Back at the wagons, right after supper
Spread our bedrolls on the ground
And me and Willie, we took the night guard
And the sage never smelled so sweet
The prairie moon, was blazin' silver
No chance tonight for a stampede

Way over yonder, off in the distance
Towards the mountains there in the west
Did I see lightnin', did I hear thunder
The mind is weary, I could use some rest
Then all at once, the wind shifts directions
The clouds roll in behind the tumbleweeds
Those longhorn cattle, are gettin' restless
God help us all, if they stampede

Smell the rain, hear the thunder
The midnight sky, turns black as death
The lightnin' crashes, smell the sulphur
It's rank and strong, as Satan's breath
The cattle rise up, and go to runnin'
I spur my pony on and take the lead
And across the herd, I can hear Willie yellin'
Hey Stampede!

Dust clouds rise, as the rain falls
They mix together, turn the air to mud
I feel the longhorns brush against me
I can feel the demons racing through my blood
Then all at once, my pony stumbles
We hit the ground, I rise up to my knees
In a flash of light, I can see the cattle comin'
Lord I know I'm gonna die in this stampede

Then I awake, and I look around me
I'm in my bedroll and I'm layin' on the ground
Over there's the wagon, and there's the campfire
I was only dreamin', what's that sound
And I feel the earth tremble underneath me
As the midnight sky begins to bleed
And from the blackness I can hear Willie yellin'
Hey Stampede

[Delmonico]

Song: The Gift
Written by: Ian Tyson

.
In old St. Louis over in Missouri
The Mighty Mississippi it rolls and flows
A son was born to Mary Russell
And it starts the legend every cowboy knows

Young kid Russell he was born to wander
Ever westward he was bound to roam
Just a kid of sixteen in 1880
Up in wild Montana he found his home

God made Montana for the wild man
For the Peigon and Sioux and Crow
But He saved his greatest gift for Charlie
Said get her all down before she goes---Charlie
You gotta get her all down cause she's bound to go

God hung the stars over Judith Basin
God put the magic in yound Charlie's hand
All was seen and all remembered
Every shining mountain every longhorn brand

He could paint the light on horsehide shining
Great passing herds of the buffalo
And a cowcamp cold on a rainy morning
And the twisting wrist of the Houlihan throw

God made Montana for the wild man
For the Peigon and Sioux and Crow
But He saved his greatest gift for Charlie
Said get her all down before she goes---Charlie
You gotta get her all down cause she's bound to go

When the Lord called Charlie to His home up yonder
He said Kid Russell I got a job for you
You're in charge of sunsets in old Montana
Cause I can't paint them quite as good as you
And when you're done---we'll go out and have a few
And Nancy Russell will make sure it's just two


God made Montana for the wild man
For the Peigon and Sioux and Crow
But He saved his greatest gift for Charlie
Said get her all down before she goes---Charlie
You gotta get her all down cause she's bound to go

[Delmonico]

Good Clean Fun

I remember making hay with Dad,
     We'd put it up in stacks--
Dad used to use a stackframe,
     and filled it to the max.

Then sometimes, but not often,
     he'd say "Rodney, you've the knack.
Grab a fork -- I'll lift you up,
     and you top off the stack."

Reluctantly, I'd take the fork.
     He'd lift me up on top--
I'd stack that hay to 30 feet,
     before he'd finally stop.

Then he'd drive up really close,
     I could see him down beneath
As I stepped out on the pushoff
    on the end of the stacker teeth.

He'd back up a little ways,
     I hoped he'd try no tricks
But giving me rides on that farmhand,
     was how he got his kicks!

Wasn't long and I'd get mad.
     I'd had these rides before--
He'd slide the pushoff almost in,
     Then he'd run it out once more!

"Come on, Dad, let me down,
     this really isn't fair"
Then he'd point the teeth toward the ground
     and leave me dangling in the air!

I could hear him laughing down below,
     in hopeless choking mirth.
and I'd wonder if I'd ever again
     put my feet upon the earth!

It was no use to argue,
     Dad wouldn't quite 'till he was done,
But I always, always wondered,
     How could this be so fun?!

Well, our yardlight burned out last year,
     and since I'd run that farmhand all my life,
I knew we could fix it in a minute
     if I could convince the wife!

Wasn't easy to convince her,
     she said a housewife was her role,
Though mad she was, she climbed aborad,
     Took a ride to the top of the pole.

I said, "Sweetheart, I'm so proud of you"
     when she fixed the light--
"And you're especially lovely when you're angry,
     You really are a sight."

"Let me down, you worthless cur,"
     She was having a full-fledged fit--
I couldn't pass up a chance like this,
     So I drove around a bit!

GOOD, CLEAN FUN -- I said to myself
     as she called me a hopeless sap,
My grin got even wider
     as I made another lap!

"Honey, just enjoy yourself
     and isn't it a fright--
It's the first time that I've carried you,
     since our wedding night!"

I finally shut the tractor off
     Let her sit up there a while,
Promised her I'd let her down,
     if she would only smile!

Oh it was fun-- but there's a problem,
     I can see it now, I can ...
It's gonna' take some might sweet talkin'
     when that light burns out again!


Rodney Nelson

[Delmonico]

We were camped on the plains at the head of the Cimmaron
When along came a stranger and stopped to arger some.
He looked so very very foolish that we began to look around,
We thought he was a greenhorn that had just 'scaped from town.

We asked him if he had he been to breakfast;  he had n't had a smear;
So we opened up the chuck-box and bade him have his share.
He took a cup of coffee and some biscuits and some beans,
And then began to talk and tell about foreign kings and queens,

About the Spanish War and fighting on on the seas
With guns as big as steers and ramrods big as trees,--
And about old Paul Jones, a mean-fighting son of a gun,
Who was the grittiest cuss that ever pulled a gun.

Such an educated feller, his thoughts just came in herds,
He astonished all them cowboys with them jaw-breaking words.
He just kept on talking till he made the  boys all sick
And they began to look around just how to play a trick.

He said he had lost his job upon the Santa Fe
And was going across the plains to strike the 7-D.
He did n't say how come it, some trouble with the boss,
But said he'd like to borrow a nice fat saddle horse.

This tickled all the boys to death; they laughed ' way down in their sleeves--
"We will lend you a horse just as fresh and fat as you please."
Shorty grabbed a lariat and roped the Zebra Dun
And turned him over to the stranger and waited for the fun.

Old Dunny was a rocky outlaw that had grown so awful wild
That he could paw the white out of the moon every jump for a mile.
Old Dunny stood right still--as if he didn't know--
Until he was saddled and ready for to go.

When the stranger hit the saddle, old Dunny quit the earth,
And traveled right straight up for all that he was worth.
A-pitching and a-squealing, a-having wall-eyed fits,
His hind feet perpendicular, his front ones in the bits.

We could see the tops of mountains under Dunny every jump,
But the stranger he was growed there just like the camel's hump;
The stranger sat upon him and curled his black moustache,
Just like a summer boarder waiting for his hash.

He thumped him in the shoulders and spurred him when he whirled,
To show them flunky punchers that he was the wolf of the world.
When the stranger had dismounted once more upon the ground,
We knew he was a thoroughbred and not a gent from town;

The boss, who was standing round watching of the show,
Walked right up to the stranger and told him he need n't go--
"If you can use a lasso like you rode old Zebra Dun,
You are the man I've been looking for ever since the year one."

Oh he could twirl the lariat and he did n't didn't do it slow;
He could catch them fore feet nine out of ten for any kind of dough,
There's one thing and a shore thing I've learned since I've been born,
That every educated feller ain't a plumb greenhorn.

traditional, from Songs of the Cowboys, 1921

 

[Arcey]

This the last cowboy song:
The end of a hundred year waltz.
The voices sound sad as they're singin' along.
Another piece of America's lost.

He rides the feed lots, clerks in the markets,
On weekends sellin' tobacco and beer.
And his dreams of tomorrow, surrounded by fences,
But he'll dream tonight of when fences weren't here.

He blazed the trail with Lewis and Clark,
And eyeball to eyeball, old Wyatt backed down.
He stood shoulder to shoulder with Travis in Texas.
And rode with the 7th when Custer went down.

This the last cowboy song:
The end of a hundred year waltz.
The voices sound sad as they're singin' along.
Another piece of America's lost.

Remmington showed us how he looked on canvas,
And Louis Lamour has told us his tale.
And Willie and Waylon and me sing about him,
And wish to God we could have ridden his trail.

This the last cowboy song:

The old Chisolm trail is covered in concrete now,

The end of a hundred year waltz.

They truck 'em to market in fifty foot rigs.

The voices sound sad as they're singin' along.

They roll by his markings and don't even notice,

Another piece of America's lost.

Like living and dying was all he ever did.

This is the last cowboy song..................






 

[Tensleep]

THE COWBOY IN THE CONTINENTAL SUIT
Words and music by Marty Robbins

Original Key D: Here C
[C] Well, he walked out in the arena
   All [G] dressed up to the [C] brim
Said he's just came [Am] down
   From a [G] place called Highland Rim
Well, he [C] said he came to [Em] ride the horse
   The [F] one they called The [C] Brute
But he didn't look [G7] like a [C] cowboy
   In his [G] Continental [C] Suit.

We snickered at the way he dressed but he never said a word
He walked on by the rest of us as if he hadn't heard
A thousand bucks went to the man that could ride this wild cayuse
A meaner horse was never born than the one they called "The Brute."

The horse that he was lookin' for was in chute number eight
He walked up very slowly, put his hand upon the gate
We knew he was a thoroughbred when he pulled a sack of Dukes
>From the inside pocket of his Continental Suit.

He rolled himself a Quirley and he lit it standing there
He blew himself a smoke ring and he watched it disappear
We thought he must be crazy when he opened up the gate
Standing just inside was fifteen hundred pounds of hate.
        
The buckskin tried to run him down but the stranger was too quick
He stepped aside and threw his arms around the horse's neck
He pulled himself upon the back of the horse they called "The Brute"
Sat like he was born there in his continental suit.

The Brute's hind end was in the air, his front end on the ground,
Kickin' and a-squeelin' - trying to shake the stranger down
But the stranger didn't give an inch - he came to ride "The Brute"
And he came to ride the buckskin in a continental suit.

Well, I turned around to look at Jim and he was watching me
He said, "I don't believe the crazy things I think I see
But I think I see the outlaw, the one they call 'The Brute'
Ridden by a cowboy in a continental suit."

The Brute came to a standstill - ashamed that he'd been rode
By a city cowboy in some continental clothes
The stranger took his money and we don't know where he went
We don't know where he came from and we haven't seen him since.

The moral of this story - never judge by what they wear
Underneath some ragged clothes could be a millionaire
Ev'rybody, listen - don't be fooled by this galoot
The sure enough bronc-buster in a Continental Suit.

[Tensleep]

UTAH CAROL

And now my friends you've asked me what makes me sad and still
And why my brow is darkened like the clouds upon the hill
Run in your ponies closer and I'll tell to you my tale
Of Utah Carol my partner and his last ride on the trail

We rode the range together and rode it side by side
I loved him like a brother, and I wept when Utah died
We were rounding up one morning when work was almost done
When on his side the cattle started on a frightened run

Underneath the saddle that the boss's daughter rode
Utah that very morning had placed a bright red robe
So the saddle might ride easy for Lenore his little friend
And it was this red blanket that brought him to his end

The blanket was now dragging behind her on the ground
The frightened cattle saw it and charged it with a bound
Lenore then saw her danger and turned her pony's face
And leaning in the saddle tied the blanket to its place

But in leaning lost her balance, fell in front of that wild tide
"Lay still Lenore I'm coming" were the words that Utah cried
His faithful pony saw her and reached her in a bound
I thought he'd been successful, and raised her from the ground

But the weight upon the saddle had not been felt before
His backcinch snapped like thunder and he fell by Lenore
Picking up the blanket he swung it over his head
And started cross the prairie, "Lay still Lenore" he said

When he got the stampede turned and saved Lenore his friend
He turned to face the cattle and meet his fatal end
His six gun flashed like lightning, the report rang loud and clear
As the cattle rushed and killed him he dropped the leading steer

On his funeral morning I heard the preacher say
I hope we'll all meet Utah at the roundup far away
Then they wrapped him in a blanket that saved his little friend
And it was this red blanket that brought him to his end

[Tensleep]

This Marty Robbins song for a friend that has gone on to make a place for us


Saddle Tramp

They call me a drifter, they say I'm no good
I'll never amount to a thing
Well I may be a drifter and I may be no good
There's joy in this song that I sing.

Saddle tramp, saddle tramp
I'm as free as the breeze and I ride where I please
Saddle tramp, saddle tramp.

At night I will rest 'neath a blanket of blue
Doubt if I ever will change
I might even dream of a lady I knew
Might even whisper her name

Saddle tramp, saddle tramp
I'm as free as the breeze and I ride where I please
Saddle tramp.

I might even wind up in Idaho
And visit a cute little miss
A sweet little someone I used to know
And I might even stop long enough for a kiss.

Saddle tramp, saddle tramp
I'm as free as the breeze and I ride where I please
Saddle tramp, saddle tramp.

Might even ride back through Phoenix someday
Might even stop for awhile
But branded, no never! I'll not be tied down
Trapped by a fair lady's smile.

Saddle tramp, saddle tramp
I'm as free as the breeze and I ride where I please
Saddle tramp!

[Delmonico]

"Nuther by this Dan Roberts fella.


Well I hires on to this brand new ranch,
it was owned by a bunch of fancy pants
but they did have several high dollar trucks and trailers
Well there was barns and pens that was under construction
and I was informed by phone I'd receive my instruction
in a video arriving in a padded mailer
It said sort the cows in pen 11,
and then bring us the tags so we can scan 'em
and I didn't have a clue but I took a sack full of ‘em to headquarters
There was a lady at a computer typing in numbers,
and the more she typed the more I felt dumber
And she said "Yep 501's too old gotta go back and sort her" and I replied,
 
I ain't no cowhand, cowhand.com,
I don't know were I just landed scroll me back to were I'm from
Cause I don't need no print out telling me that its time to wean
never seen a calf pulled by a machine
and this information highway keeps my pony sore and lean
I ain't no cowhand.com
 
Well my security pass slash photo ID,
opened the gate and picked out a horse for me
and you punch in a code and it would start an automatic feeder
course you still had to step over what them cows are downloading,
and you did hair analysis with a digital modem
and put a cow up on a screen and it'd tell you which bull's gonna breed her
 
well then they give me this laptop for my saddlebags
and it got dusty out riding drag
and I knew the boss was gonna have my hide
well they said just boot it up, open the windows,
something about a mouse and a bunch of menus
so I hauled off and kicked it, I kept the windows closed,
cause it was freezing outside
 
I ain't no cowhand, cowhand.com,
I don't know were I just landed scroll me back to were I'm from
Cause I don't need no print out telling me which stall to clean
never seen a horse shod by a machine
and this information highway keeps my pony sore and lean
I ain't no cowhand.com
 
well then they start talking downsizin' and linkin' up
I told 'em I was heading for the tall and the uncut
they could stick that pentium right in their AOL
they was faxing emails and hazing the web,
and they even had a megabite ram and that sounds inbred
I recon' those people would'nt know the difference
between a hard drive and a paper trail
 
I ain't no cowhand, cowhand.com,
I don't need no information higway to get back to where I'm from
and I don't need no printout telling me which colt is green
never seen a bronc broke by a machine
besides this little cell phone just don't fit good in my jeans
I ain't no cowhand.com
I ain't no http://HTTP://all one word, all little letters, www.Cowhand.com
Yep that’s what you get when you try to cross one of them computers
with a cowboy

[Trinity]

I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle
As I go ridin' merrily along
And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single"
And that song ain't so very far from wrong

Oh, Lillie Belle
Oh, Lillie Belle
Though I may have done some foolin'
This is why I never fell

I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle
As I go ridin' merrily along
And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single"
And that song ain't so very far from wrong

Oh, Mary Ann
Oh, Mary Ann
Though we done some moonlight walkin'
This is why I up and ran

I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle
As I go ridin' merrily along
And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single"
And that song ain't so very far from wrong

So I'll jingle on along

[Delmonico]

The Sierry Petes (or, Tying Knots in the Devil's Tail)

Away up high in the Sierry Petes,
Where the yeller pines grows tall,
Ole Sandy Bob an' Buster Jig,
Had a rodeer camp last fall.

Oh, they taken their hosses and runnin' irons
And maybe a dog or two,
An' they 'lowed they'd brand all the long-yered calves,
That come within their view.

And any old dogie that flapped long yeres,
An' didn't bush up by day,
Got his long yeres whittled an' his old hide scorched,
In a most artistic way.

Now one fine day ole Sandy Bob,
He throwed his seago down,
"I'm sick of the smell of burnin’ hair,
And I 'lows I'm a-goin' to town."

So they saddles up an' hits 'em a lope,
Fer it warnt no sight of a ride,
And them was the days when a Buckeroo
Could ile up his inside.

Oh, they starts her in at the Kaintucky Bar,
At the head of Whiskey Row,
And they winds up down by the Depot House,
Some forty drinks below.

They then sets up and turns around,
And goes her the other way,
An' to tell you the Gawd-forsaken truth,
Them boys got stewed that day.

As they was a-ridin' back to camp,
A-packin' a pretty good load,
Who should they meet but the Devil himself,
A-prancin' down the road.

Sez he, "You ornery cowboy skunks,
You'd better hunt yer holes,
Fer I've come up from Hell's Rim Rock,
To gather in yer souls."

Sez Sandy Bob, "Old Devil be damned,
We boys is kinda tight,
But you ain't a-goin' to gather no cowboy souls,
'Thout you has some kind of a fight."

So Sandy Bob punched a hole in his rope,
And he swang her straight and true,
He lapped it on to the Devil's horns,
An' he taken his dallies too.

Now Buster jig was a riata man,
With his gut-line coiled up neat,
So he shaken her out an' he built him a loop,
An' he lassed the Devil's hind feet.

Oh, they stretched him out an' they tailed him down,
While the irons was a-gettin hot,
They cropped and swaller-forked his yeres,
Then they branded him up a lot.

They pruned him up with a de-hornin' saw,
An' they knotted his tail fer a joke,
They then rid off and left him there,
Necked to a Black-Jack oak.

If you're ever up high in the Sierry Petes,
An' you hear one Hell of a wail,
You'll know it's that Devil a-bellerin' around,
About them knots in his tail.