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Windy Bill |
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The old gray plug flew after him,
For he'd been eatin' corn;
And Bill, he piled his old maguey
Right round old Blackie's horns.
The old gray hoss he stopped right still;
The cinches broke like straw,
And the old maguey and the Sam Stack tree
Went driftin' down the draw.
Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile,
His face and hands were scratched.
He said he thought he could rope a snake
But he guessed he'd met his match.
He paid his bets like a little man
Without a bit of jaw,
And lowed old Blackie was the boss
Of anything in the draw.
There's a moral to my story, boys, And that you all must see. Whenever you go to tie a snake,*** Don't tie it to your tree; But take your dolly welters * 'Cordin' to California law, And you'll never see your old rim-fire ** Go drifting down the draw.
*** snake, bad steer.
♦Dolly welter, rope tied all around the saddle.
** rim-fire saddle, without flank girth. |
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