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Bucking Broncho |
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And he's sold him his saddle, his spurs, and his rope, And there's no more cow punching, and that's what I hope.
My love has a gun that has gone to the bad, Which makes poor old Jimmy feel pretty damn sad; For the gun it shoots high and the gun it shoots low, And it wobbles about like a bucking broncho.
Now all you young maidens, where'er you reside, Beware of the cowboy who swings the raw-hide; He'll court you and pet you and leave you and go In the spring up the trail on his bucking broncho. |
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