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. _James Barton Adams._
IF a feller's been a-straddle Since he's big enough to ride, And has had to sling his saddle On most any colored hide,-- Though it's nothin' they take pride in, Still most fellers I have knowed, If they ever done much ridin', Has at different times got throwed.
All the boys start out together For the round-up some fine day When you're due to throw your leather On a little wall-eyed bay, An' he swells to beat the nation When you're cinchin' up the slack, An' he keeps an elevation In your saddle at the back.
He stands still with feet a-sprawlin', An' his eye shows lots of white, An' he kinks his spinal column, An' his hide is puckered tight, He starts risin' an' a-jumpin', An' he strikes when you get near, An' you cuss him an' you thump him Till you get him by the ear,--
Then your right hand grabs the saddle An' you ketch your stirrup, too, An' you try to light a-straddle Like a woolly buckaroo; But he drops his head an' switches, Then he makes a backward jump, Out of reach your stirrup twitches But your right spur grabs his hump.