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American Ballads and Folk Songs
It's I an' Bill Jones was good old cronies,
We was always together on our sore-backed ponies.
We left Nelson Ranch on June twenty-third,
With a drove o£ Texas cattle, two thousand in the herd.
We whooped them through Gonzales, night was drawin' nigh. We bedded them down on a hill close by.
Foot in the stirrup, my seat in the saddle, Best little cowboy that ever rode a-straddle.
Slicker in the wagon and pouring down hail, Goin' round the herd with a dogie by the tail.
It's rainin' like hell and it's gittin' mighty cold,
And the long-horned sons-a-guns are gittin' mighty hard to hold.
Saddle up, boys, and saddle up well,
For I think these cattle have scattered to hell.
Me and old Blue Dog arrived on the spot,
And we put them to milling like the boiling of a pot.
I'm on my best horse and I am goin' on a run,
I'm the quickest-shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.
I flushed them left, couldn't get 'em to stop, I can run as long as an eight-day clock.
My seat in my saddle, and I gave a little shout, The lead cattle broke an' the herd went about.
My quirt in my hand, my slicker on my saddle, I hung and rattled with them goddam cattle.
Some of 'em we captured without half tryin',
They was so damned scared they didn't need hog-tyin\
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