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THE FATE OF THE BEEF STEER 65 |
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And call all the braves and warriors above and beneath the sod
To rally around his standard and pay homage to their God.
THE FATE OF THE BEEF STEER
By J. W. Foley
Heard this sung at a cow-camp at Solidad Ranch, New Mexico.
Hush-a-by, Long Horn, your pards are all sleepin'; Stop your durn millin' an' tossin' your head, Wavin' your horns so unrestful, an' sweepin' All of the beef herd with eyes big an* red. 1 Mebbe you know when you're pawin' the dust up, Bellerin* ugly an' switchin' your tail; Mebbe you know when you are nearin' the bust-up, Nearin' the quittin' place — end of the trail.
Say, it's a queer trail that you've got to foiler, Scattered all over the face of the land, All of you made into goods but the holler, , Part of you bottled an' part of you canned. Wait till they're through with you till you knock
under; You've got so ticklish a journey to go. All of the round-ups between here an' thunder Could n't locate you, they'll scatter you so.
You think we crowd you — you'll have to go faster; You ain't all steak — you'll discover that, too; Wait till they put your red hair into plaster, Boil down your hoofs into Stickum's Best Glue; |
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