The Strawberry Roan
Words & Music:
I was hangin' 'round town just a-spendin' my time,
Nothing else to spend, not even a dime.
When a feller steps up and he says, "I suppose
You're a bronc-bustin' man by the looks of your clothes."
"Your guess is near right, and a good one," I claim,
"Do you happen to have any bad ones to tame?"
He says, "I've got one and a bad one to buck.
At throwin' bronc riders he's had lots of luck."
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Well, it's, oh, that strawberry roan! Oh, that strawberry roan!
He says, "This old pony ain't never been rode
And the boy that gets on him is sure to get throwed."
Oh, that strawberry roan!
I gets all excited and I ask what he pays
To ride this old goat for a couple of days.
He offers a ten spot and I says, "I'm your man,
For the bronc never lived that I couldn't fan.
No, the bronc never lived, nor he never drew breath,
That I couldn't ride, 'til be starved plumb to death."
Well, he says, "Get your saddle, I'll give you a chance."
We got in his buckboard and rode to the ranch.
Well, down in the horse corral, standing alone,
Was that old caballo, the strawberry roan.
His legs were spavined, and he had pigeon toes,
Little pig eyes and a big Roman nose,
Little pin ears that were crimped at the tip,
With a big "44" branded 'cross his left hip.
Ewe-necked and old, with a long lower jaw,
You can see with one eye he's a reg'lar outlaw.
Well I puts on my spurs and I coils up my twine.
I piled my loop on him and I'm sure feeling fine.
I piled my loop on him and well I knew then
If I rode this old pony, I'd sure earn my ten.
I put the blinds on him, it sure was a fight!
Next comes the saddle, I screws her down tight.
I gets in his middle and I opens the blind,
I'm right in his middle to see him unwind.
Well he bowed his old neck and I think he unwound,
He seemed to quit living down there on the ground.
Goes up towards the east and comes down towards the west,
To stay in his middle I'm a-doin' my best.
He's about the worst bucker I've seen on the range.
He can turn on a nickel and give you some change.
He turns his old belly right up to the sun.
He sure is one sun-fishin' son of a gun!
I'll telling you, no foolin', this pony can step.
I'm still in his middle and buildin' a rep.
I loses my stirrup and also my hat.
I starts pulling leather, I'm blind as a bat.
With a big forward jump, he goes up on high,
leaves me sittin' on nothin' way up in the sky.
Turns over twice, and I comes down to earth.
I lights in a-cussin' the day of his birth.
Well, I know there is ponies I'm unable to ride
Some are still living, they haven't all died.