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Of the fellows who'd said that the hoss wasn't
bred that could give 'em the wust of a go; So we saddled ol' Satan, the tenderfoot waitin'
with a grin on his innercent face; An' we got him astraddle an' sot in the saddle an'
seed everything was in place, An'^we bid him good-bye with a wink o' the eye at
each other an' anxiously stood Holdin' onto the head o' the bronc till he said we
might let 'er go if we would.
If the heavens had fell all around that corral an*
drowned us in clouds from the skies I kin tell you, by gad, that we would n't 'a' had any
bigger a bunch o' surprise; Fur he sot in his seat in the saddle as neat as if
lollin' around in a chair, An' that bronco a-thumpin* the earth an' a-jumpin'
in spasms right up in the air; Lit a cigarette right in the heat o' the fight an'
grinned at the animal's jumps, Us guys standin' there with a paralyzed stare like
a bunch o' half-idiot chumps; An' I'm tellin' you, boss, that he stayed with that
hoss until he got it as meek as a calf, An' rid it around on the hoof-battered ground an'
givin' us fellers the laugh 1
Every devilish bloke in the gang had gone broke
a-backin' his honest belief That the bronco we'd picked that had never been
licked 'd sure bring the stranger to grief; An' we bellered an' swore till our lungs was plum