City Cowboy

Photo courtesy of Istockphoto / Brandy Taylor
Photo courtesy of Istockphoto / Brandy Taylor

My nephew from the city spent the summer on the ranch
He’d yearned to be a cowboy, and thought this’d be his chance
He stayed out in the bunkhouse, that’s what real punchers do
He learned to play some poker, and to spit, and swear and chew

My sis would not be happy with the habits he’d acquired
But, set on punchin’ cows, he trailed the guys we’d hired
He tried his luck one Sunday stayin’ on a rank old steer
The guys had helped ‘im out some, gave ‘im pointers and some gear

He didn’t last eight seconds; tell the truth, not even four
But it took the Doc ten stitches, or maybe even more
He said, “Don’t worry ’bout the scar, my Ma, she won’t be stressed,
It makes me look more Western, it’s a cowboy IQ test!”

He tried his skill at ropin’, went and dallied up his thumb
I hoped the cast’d slow ‘im down, cool his cowboy fever some
He tried one-handed milking, said he saw it on TV
Should’a had instruction, Angus ain’t a dairy breed

Scared to call my sister, I tried to think up a good fib
‘Cause he got a concussion, bruises and a broken rib
His luck seemed to desert him, if to cowboy was his goal
Sprained his ankle in the pasture, steppin’ in a gopher hole

The old boss cow trampled him, he got too close to her calf
I hoped he’d notice soon a cowboy’s life ain’t fun by half
He slipped right off the hay rack, a bale landed on his chest
The guys kept right on pickin’ to give him a little rest

He hung in there for weeks and weeks, it really made me tense
He finally packed it in the day he peed on the ‘lectric fence!

 


City Cowboy excerpted from Friends and neighbors,┬átried and true… by Phyllis Kozroski.

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