Cowboy Songs Part 25

I crossed the river to the ranch where I intended to work, With a big six-shooter and a derned good dirk,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!

They roped me out a skew-ball black With a double set-fast on his back,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!

And when I was mounted on his back, The boys all yelled, "Just give him slack,"-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!

They rolled and tumbled and yelled, by G.o.d, For he threw me a-whirling all over the sod,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!

I went to the boss and I told him I'd resign, The fool tumbled over, and I thought he was dyin',-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!

And it's to Arkansaw I'll go back, To h.e.l.l with Texas and the skew-ball black,-- Whoa! skew, till I saddle you, whoa!

THE RAMBLING COWBOY

There was a rich old rancher who lived in the country by, He had a lovely daughter on whom I cast my eye; She was pretty, tall, and handsome, both neat and very fair, There's no other girl in the country with her I could compare.

I asked her if she would be willing for me to cross the plains; She said she would be truthful until I returned again; She said she would be faithful until death did prove unkind, So we kissed, shook hands, and parted, and I left my girl behind.

I left the State of Texas, for Arizona I was bound; I landed in Tombstone City, I viewed the place all round.

Money and work were plentiful and the cowboys they were kind But the only thought of my heart was the girl I left behind.

One day as I was riding across the public square The mail-coach came in and I met the driver there; He handed me a letter which gave me to understand That the girl I left in Texas had married another man.

I turned myself all round and about not knowing what to do, But I read on down some further and it proved the words were true.

Hard work I have laid over, it's gambling I have designed.

I'll ramble this wide world over for the girl I left behind.

Come all you reckless and rambling boys who have listened to this song, If it hasn't done you any good, it hasn't done you any wrong; But when you court a pretty girl, just marry her while you can, For if you go across the plains she'll marry another man.

THE COWBOY AT CHURCH

Some time ago,--two weeks or more If I remember well,-- I found myself in town and thought I'd knock around a spell, When all at once I heard the bell,-- I didn't know 'twas Sunday,-- For on the plains we scarcely know A Sunday from a Monday,--

A-calling all the people From the highways and the hedges And all the reckless throng That tread ruin's ragged edges, To come and hear the pastor tell Salvation's touching story, And how the new road misses h.e.l.l And leads you straight to glory.

I started by the chapel door, But something urged me in, And told me not to spend G.o.d's day In revelry and sin.

I don't go much on sentiment, But tears came in my eyes.

It seemed just like my mother's voice Was speaking from the skies.

I thought how often she had gone With little Sis and me To church, when I was but a lad Way back in Tennessee.

It never once occurred to me About not being dressed In Sunday rig, but carelessly I went in with the rest.

You should have seen the smiles and shrugs As I went walking in, As though they thought my leggins Worse than any kind of sin; Although the honest parson, In his vestry garb arrayed Was dressed the same as I was,-- In the trappings of his trade.

The good man prayed for all the world And all its motley crew, For pagan, Hindoo, sinners, Turk, And unbelieving Jew,-- Though the congregation doubtless thought That the cowboys as a race Were a kind of moral outlaw With no good claim to grace.

Is it very strange that cowboys are A rough and reckless crew When their garb forbids their doing right As Christian people do?

That they frequent scenes of revelry Where death is bought and sold, Where at least they get a welcome Though it's prompted by their gold?

Stranger, did it ever strike you, When the winter days are gone And the mortal gra.s.s is springing up To meet the judgment sun, And we 'tend mighty round-ups Where, according to the Word, The angel cowboy of the Lord Will cut the human herd,--

That a heap of stock that's lowing now Around the Master's pen And feeding at his fodder stack Will have the brand picked then?

And brands that when the hair was long Looked like the letter C, Will prove to be the devil's, And the brand the letter D;

While many a long-horned coaster,-- I mean, just so to speak,-- That hasn't had the advantage Of the range and gospel creek Will get to crop the gra.s.ses In the pasture of the Lord If the letter C showed up Beneath the devil's checker board.

THE U. S. A. RECRUIT

Now list to my song, it will not take me long, And in some things with me you'll agree; A young man so green came in from Moline, And enlisted a soldier to be.

He had lots of pluck, on himself he was stuck, In his Government straights he looked "boss,"

And he chewed enough beans for a hoss.

He was a rookey, so flukey, He was a jim dandy you all will agree, He said without fear, "Before I'm a year In the Army, great changes you'll see."

He was a stone thrower, a foam blower, He was a Loo Loo you bet, He stood on his head and these words gently said, "I'll be second George Was.h.i.+ngton yet."

At his post he did land, they took him in hand, The old bucks they all gathered 'round, Saying "Give us your fist; where did you enlist?

You'll take on again I'll be bound; I've a blanket to sell, it will fit you quite well, I'll sell you the whole or a piece.

I've a dress coat to trade, or a helmet unmade, It will do you for kitchen police."

Then the top said, "My Son, here is a gun, Just heel ball that musket up bright.

In a few days or more you'll be rolling in gore, A-chasing wild Goo Goos to flight.

There'll be fighting, you see, and blood flowing free, We'll send you right on to the front; And never you fear, if you're wounded, my dear, You'll be pensioned eight dollars per month."

He was worried so bad, he blew in all he had; He went on a drunk with goodwill.

And the top did report, "One private short."

When he showed up he went to the mill.

The proceedings we find were a ten dollar blind, Ten dollars less to blow foam.

This was long years ago, and this rookey you know Is now in the old soldiers' home.

THE COWGIRL

My love is a rider and broncos he breaks, But he's given up riding and all for my sake; For he found him a horse and it suited him so He vowed he'd ne'er ride any other bronco.

My love has a gun, and that gun he can use, But he's quit his gun fighting as well as his booze; 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.