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American Ballads and Folk Songs
My love is a rider, wild broncos he breaks, Though he's promised to quit it, just for my sake. He ties up one foot, the saddle puts on, With a swing and a jump he's mounted and gone. [Or For he found him a horse and it suited him so He vowed he'd ne'er ride any other bronco.]
The first time I met him, 'twas early one spring, Riding a bronco, a high-headed thing. He tipped me a wink as he gaily did go; For he wished me to look at his bucking bronco.
The next time I saw him 'twas late in the fall, Swinging the girls at Tomlinson's ball. He laughed and he talked as we danced to and fro, Promised never to ride on another bronco.
He made me some presents, among them a ring; The return that I made him was a far better thing;
He's won it by riding his bucking bronco.
My love has a gun, and that gun he can use, But he's quit his gun fighting as well as the booze; And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs and his rope, And there's no more cow-punching, and that's what I hope.
My love has a gun that has gone to the bad, Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad; For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low, And it wabbles about like a bucking bronco.
* From Cowboy Songs.