Cowboy Songs, and Other Frontier Ballads. Various

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      Last time I saw him he was going cross the level

       A-kicking up his heels and a-running like the devil.

      It's cloudy in the West, a-looking like rain,

       And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again.

      Crippled my hoss, I don't know how,

       Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow.

      We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly,

       We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by.

      No chaps, no slicker, and it's pouring down rain,

       And I swear, by god, I'll never night-herd again.

      Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle,

       I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle.

      Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the ranks,

       I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him in the flanks.

      The wind commenced to blow, and the rain began to fall,

       Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to loss 'em all.

      I jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt the horn,

       Best blamed cow-puncher ever was born.

      I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell,

       The tail cattle broke and the leaders went to hell.

      I don't give a damn if they never do stop;

       I'll ride as long as an eight-day clock.

      Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn,

       Best damned cowboy ever was born.

      I herded and I hollered and I done very well,

       Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to hell."

      Stray in the herd and the boss said kill it,

       So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet.

      We rounded 'em up and put 'em on the cars,

       And that was the last of the old Two Bars.

      Oh it's bacon and beans most every day—

       I'd as soon be a-eatin' prairie hay.

      I'm on my best horse and I'm goin' at a run,

       I'm the quickest shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.

      I went to the wagon to get my roll,

       To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul.

      I went to the boss to draw my roll,

       He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole.

      I'll sell my outfit just as soon as I can,

       I won't punch cattle for no damned man.

      Goin' back to town to draw my money,

       Goin' back home to see my honey.

      With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky,

       I'll quit punching cows in the sweet by and by.

      Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,

       Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.

      The Old Chisholm Trail

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