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66 SONGS OF THE COWBOYS |
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All of the grief in this world ain't bad weather; Better lie down there an' take a short snooze. Wait till they tan your tough hide into leather; Wait till some feller is wearin' your shoes.
You don't know where you will have to go roamin', What will be eatin' an' what will be worn; Mebbe some woman in New York will be combin' Out her back hair with a piece of your horn; Mebbe the same time your tail will be travelin', Cooked into soup for some tenderfoot's feed; Some of your hide in a rope they'll be ravelin', All of your infnards gone on a stampede.
Better lie down there an' rest up, Ol' Ranger; You ain't nigh come to the end of your trail; Mebbe some woman, to you perfect stranger, Will brush up crumbs with the end of your tail. Don't pay to be too durn proud of your beller; You ain't the only bad steer up north; Wise to remember that no livin' feller Ever can tell what a day will bring forth.
FIGHTIN' MAD
Received from Miss Jean Beaumondy, Colorado Springs Round-up, 1911. Jean was then the champion girl trick roper of the world.
I've swum the Colorado where she runs down close
to hell; I've braced the faro layouts at Cheyenne; I've fought at muddy waters with a howling bunch
of Sioux, And I've eaten hot tamales in Cayenne. |
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