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NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM
M
Y country, 'tis of thee, Land where things used to be So cheap, we croak. Land of the mavericks, Land of the puncher's tricks, Thy culture-inroad pricks The hide of this peeler-bloke.
Some of the punchers swear That what they eat and wear Takes all their calves. Others vow that they Eat only once a day Jerked beef and prairie hay Washed down with tallow salves.
These salty-dogs ** but crave To pull them out the grave Just one Kiowa spur. They know they still will dine On flesh and beef the time; But give us, Lord divine, One " hen-fruit stir." * |
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** Cowboy Dude. * Pancake. |
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