The Strawberry Roan

Words & Music:

Curly Fletcher

C G7

I was hangin' 'round town just a-spendin' my time,

G7 C

Nothing else to spend, not even a dime.

C F

When a feller steps up and he says, "I suppose

G7 C

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.

G7 C

At throwin' bronc riders he's had lots of luck."

CHORUS:

C G7 C F C

Well, it's, oh, that strawberry roan! Oh, that strawberry roan!

F C

He says, "This old pony ain't never been rode

F C

And the boy that gets on him is sure to get throwed."

G7 C

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.

CHORUS:

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.

CHORUS:

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.

CHORUS:

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.

CHORUS:

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.

CHORUS: