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SKY-HIGH |
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He stepped into the saddle
En hollered — " Let 'im go 1"
We jerked the blinder from his eyes,
Then stopped to watch the show.
You've all heard of pitchin' horses From Steamboat down the line, Old Barometer, en Step Fast, En a mare they called Divine.
Old Prickly Pear, en Pizen, Lop Ears, en Stingaree, — They all wuz Shetland ponies 'Side this horse from Santa Fe.
We asked Red in tones solicitous If he had made his will, Had he any girl in Texas Who really loved him still?
Was there any parting message That he would like to send, To some one in his old, old home Who still might be his friend?
Who was his pet undertaker?
What parson should we get?
Would he have flowers on his coffin? —
I can hear old Bugger yet;
" Mosey, you four-flush punchers, Don't weep no tears for me, I'm a ridin' kid from Texas, From the old 3 Bar C1 |
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