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PUNCHIN' DOUGH 131 |
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PUNCHIN' DOUGH By Henty Herbert Knibbs
Come, all you young waddies, I'll sing you a song: Stand back from the wagon — stay where you belong; I've heard you observin' I'm fussy and slow, While you're punchin' cattle and I'm punchin' dough.
Nowl reckon your stomach would grow to your back, If it wa'n't for the cook that keeps fillin' the slack: With the beans in the box and the pork in the tub, I'm a wonderin', now, who would fill you with grub?
You think you're right handy with gun and with
rope, But I 've noticed you're bashful when usin' the soap: When you're rollin' your Bull for your brown
cigarette, I been rollin' dough for the biscuits you et.
When you're cuttin' stock, then I'm cuttin' steak: When you're wranglin' horses, I'm wranglin'cake: When you're hazin' the dogies and battin' your
eyes, I 'm hazin' dried apples that aim to be pies.
You brag about shootin' up windows and lights, But try shooting biscuits for twelve appetites: When you crawl from your roll and the ground it is
froze, Then who biles the coffee that thaws out your nose? |
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