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o8 SONGS OF THE COWBOYS |
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At last we got them milling and kinder quieted down, And the extra guard back to the camp did go; But one of them was missin', and we all knew at a glance 'T was our little Texas stray —poor Wrangler Joe.
Next morning just at sunup we found where Rocket feU, Down in a washout twenty feet below; Beneath his horse, mashed to a pulp, his spurs had rung the knell For our little Texas stray — poor Wrangler Joe.
LOVE ON THE RANGE
/ got this from Doc Henderson at an Albuquerque Live Stock Association meeting.
Little gal, I 'm not a singer; if I were I 'd sing to you
A tale of love that sure would be a wonder;
It would beat them opry singers when they sing,
"Love I'll be true — As true as moon and stars a-shining yonder."
My hands are big, and clumsy — I can't pick the
light guitar; And no doubt you'll say my lingo's idle prattle; But what can you expect? I'm from the Double
Circle-Bar, ■ Where all my fingers learned was punching cattle.
I know the trail blindfolded and I never knew a fear, For I've followed it for years, honeysuckle; |
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