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COWBOY VERSUS BRONCHO, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Haven't got no special likin' fur the toney sorts o'
Last Line: An' mistook the proper time to have it out.
Subject(s): Animals; Cowboys; Horses; Ranch Life; West (u.s.); Southwest; Pacific States


HAVEN'T got no special likin' fur the toney sorts o' play,
Chasin' foxes or that hossback polo game,
Jumpin' critters over hurdles — sort o' things that any jay
Could accomplish an' regard as rather tame.
None o' them is worth a mention, to my thinkin' p'int o' view,
Which the same I hold correct without a doubt,
As a-toppin' of a broncho that has got it in fur you
An' concludes that's just the time to have it out.

Don't no sooner hit the saddle than the exercises start,
An' they're lackin' in perliminary fuss;
You kin hear his j'ints a-crackin' like he's breakin' 'em apart,
An' the hide jes' seems a-rippin' off the cuss,
An' you sometimes git a joltin' that makes everything turn blue,
An' you want to strictly mind what you're about,
When you're fightin' with a broncho that has got it in fur you
An' imagines that's the time to have it out.

Bows his back when he is risin', sticks his nose between his knees,
An' he shakes hisself while a-hangin' in the air;
Then he hits the earth so solid that it somewhat disagrees
With the usual peace an' quiet of your hair.
You imagine that your innards are a-gittin' all askew,
An' your spine don't feel so cussed firm an' stout,
When you're up agin a broncho that has got it in fur you
Doin' of his level best to have it out.

He will rise to the occasion with a lightnin' jump, an' then
When he hits the face o' these United States
Doesn't linger half a second till he's in the air agin —
Occupies the earth an' then evacuates.
Isn't any sense o' comfort like a-settin' in a pew
Listenin' to hear a sleepy parson spout
When you're up on top a broncho that has got it in fur you
An' is desputly a-tryin' to have it out.

Always feel a touch o' pity when he has to give it up
After makin' sich a well intentioned buck
An' is standin' broken hearted an' as gentle as a pup
A reflectin' on the rottenness o' luck.
Puts your sympathetic feelin's, as you might say, in a stew,
Though you're lame as if a-sufferin' from the gout,
When you're lightin' off a broncho that has had it in fur you
An' mistook the proper time to have it out.





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