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128 SONGS OF THE COWBOYS |
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Old Pecos Tom, the cowman, en your humble
servant, me, Was a-swappin' cow-camp stories in the fall of
eighty-three. When my gaze it sort er fastened on a gun slung on
his side, Worth some fifteen thousand dollars — say, maybe
you thinlr I've lied? But the handle was plumb covered with diamonds
of all size, En she 'd glitter, en she 'd glisten, es she hung down
from his side.
You could have bought his whole darned outfit fer
a yearlin' steer er two, Hat, boots, overalls, en chaps — there was nothin'
that was new; Lived down in a dugout, on jest sour-dough bread
en beef, En was just about as happy es a Choctaw Indian chief.
Figured he had ten thousand cattle, en the whole wide range was his,
En if he wanted a good six-shooter it was no one else's biz;
So when he shipped with er train er steers to Chicago late one fall,
En was strollin' on up State Street, he thought he'd make a call
On the biggest jewelry outfit that kept gaudy
things to wear, But when he asked fer a six-shooter the Jew clerk
began to stare; |
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