Wrangler

Ain't got no money and my horse up and died
dropped my gun in the river now its rusty inside,
got holes in my boots with rusty old spurs
my blanket has fleas and stays full of burrs.

I'm a sorry old cowpoke walking the range
the people I meet think I'm mighty strange,
scratchin' and stinkin' I cuss when I walk
a lifetime on horses gimmie a bowlegged walk.

Spent my whole life sleeping outdoors
at hotels and saloons I’m stopped at the doors,
but I have a talent no man has denied;
there ain’t a horse born that I cannot ride.

I’m a bronc rider right down to my bones
of which many’s been broke but I’ll spare you the moans.
When stockmen and ranchers get a wild one to tame
they never think twice before callin’ my name.

Ain’t no crowbait outlaw that I couldn’t span
ridin’ the bad ones fit for no other man.
A rancher then tole’ me he had a horse needin’ broke
in turn he would buy me a drink for my throat.

A big piebald stallion all scarred from the range
still spooked by his capture and surroundings so strange.
His little pig eyes all bloodshot with hate
snortin’ and pawin’ as I walked through the gate.

I roped and short necked him then tied on the blind
he fought every step, we had a helluva time.
He shied from the blanket and bucked off the saddle
if I had any sense I would’a skedaddled.

It took half an hour but I got the cinch tight
there’d never been a horse put up such a fight.
When the tether came off and the blind pulled away
that horse quit the earth and we had us a day!

He went up in the middle and came down at both ends
makin’ sure that I knew we’d never be friends.
First went my hat then I came out of a stirrup
dust in my eyes caused my vision to blur up.

Squealing, lunging and spinning around
he shook me loose quick and I flopped to the ground,
when he felt that I’d gone he turned to attack
but nothing was there but my old battered hat.

Four lassos flicked out snaring two feet and his neck
so he had to hold still and endure what came next,
when I jumped in his middle and grabbed a deep seat
he dragged all the ropes determined not to be beat.

He unwound like a whirlwind and spun like a blur
kicking up so much dust they couldn’t tell where we were.
He aimed for the moon and came down with a thump
but I clung to his back like the camel’s own hump.

One thing for sure he had lots’a buck
but he’d been rode by a cowboy with even more pluck.
He finally quit jumpin’ and while wheezing for breath
I sat there rejoicing I’d just cheated death.

The hands were all silent as dust drifted away
they stared at us both with nothing to say,
I stayed on that stallion reins loose in my hands
impressing on him he’d been mastered by man.

Signaling the wranglers to open the gate
his lessons continued, it was best not to wait.
Other riders formed up to walk side by side
teaching him signals he learned to abide.

Now I was so sore I walked with a waddle
and my price had gone up to an entire bottle,
but years later they told me, and this ain’t no joke;
no clean man ever rode him smellin’ of soap!


by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved