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When You're Throwed
An' you feel a vague sensation
As upon the ground you roll, Like a violent separation 'Twixt your body an' your soul. Then you roll agin a hummock Where you lay an' gasp for breath, An' there's somethin' grips your stomach Like the finger-grips o' death. They all offers you prescriptions
For the grip an' for the croup, An' they give you plain descriptions How you looped the spiral loop; They all swear you beat a circus Or a hoochy-koochy dance, Moppin' up the canon's surface With the bosom of your pants. Then you'll get up on your trotters,
But you have a job to stand; For the landscape round you totters An' your collar's full o' sand. Lots of fellers give prescriptions"' How a broncho should be rode, But there's few that gives descriptions Of the times when they got throwed. Anonymous. |
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