| Little Joe, the wrangler, will never wrangle more;
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| His days with the remuda they are done.
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| 'Twas a year ago last April he joined the outfit here,
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| A little Texas stray and all alone.
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| 'Twas long late in the evening he rode up to the herd
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| On a little old brown pony he called Chaw;
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| With his brogan shoes and overalls a harder looking kid
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| You never in your life had seen before.
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| His saddle 'twas a southern kack built many years ago,
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| An O.K. |
| spur on one foot idle hung,
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| While his «hot roll» in a cotton sack was loosely tied behind
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| And a canteen from the saddle horn he’d slung.
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| He said he’d had to leave his home, his daddy’d married twice
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| And his new ma beat him every day or two;
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| So he saddled up old Chaw one night and «lit a shuck» this way
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| Thought he’d try and paddle his own canoe.
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| Said he’d try and do the best he could if we’d only give him work
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| Though he didn’t know «straight» up about a cow,
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| So the boss he cut him out a mount and kinder put him on
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| For he sorta liked the little stray somehow.
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| Taught him how to herd the horses and to learn to know them all
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| To round 'em up by daylight; |
| if he could
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| To follow the chuck wagon and to always hitch the team
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| And help the «cosinero» rustle wood.
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| We’d driven hard to red river and the weather had been fine;
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| We were camped down on the south side of the bend
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| When a norther commenced blowing and we doubled up our guards
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| For it took all hands to hold the cattle then.
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| Little Joe the wrangler was called out with the rest
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| And scarcely had the kid got to the herd
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| When the cattle they stampeded; |
| like a hail storm, long they flew
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| And all of us were riding for the lead.
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| «Tween the streaks of lightning we could see a horse out far ahead
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| 'Twas little Joe the wrangler in the lead;
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| We was riding «old Blue Rocket» with his slicker 'bove his head
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| Trying to check the leaders in their speed.
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| At last we got them milling and kind of quieted down
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| And the extra guard back to the camp did go
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| But one of them was missin' and we all knew at a glance
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| 'Twas our little Texas stray poor wrangler Joe.
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| Next morning just at sunup we found where Rocket fell
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| Down in a washout twenty feet below
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| Beneath his horse mashed to a pulp his horse had rung the knell
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| For our little Texas stray--poor wrangler Joe. |