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CHUCK-TIME ON THE ROUND-UP 27 |
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Somethin' like the cattle that start to "millin"' in
the night, And try to quit their bod-ground at some imaginary
fright.
But unlike the friendly " Dogies," you can't sing
this stuff to sleep, For all the music that goes with it was furnished
while you eat. An' perhaps it's just as well, for you could n't sing
a note With all that sorrow in your pantry and that burnin'
in your throat That is caused by too much vintage of celebrated
make, Which early in the evenin' you thought so nice to take; But later showed developments which led you to
believe That the stuff was manufactured from a kind of
"loco weed";
Then you recall the bottles that were stored away
so nice, With some blankets wrapped around 'em in a bucket
of cracked ice, With their golden yellow labels like the "Dogies"
from Old Mex, And you know it's somethin' extra by the figures on
your checks.
But it differs from those " Dogies " that have crossed
the Rio Grande, For you cannot tell the value by the color or the brand. |
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