Tom: C
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Little Joe, the wrangler, will wrangle nevermore
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His days with the remuda, they are o'er
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T'was a year ago last April, when he rode into our camp
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A little Texas stray and all alone.
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Was late in the ev'nin', when 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 tougher lookin' kid
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You never in your life had ever saw.
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His saddle was a Texas 'kack' built many years ago
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An O.K. spur on one foot, idly hung
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With his hot roll in a cotton sack, loosely tied behind
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And a canteen from his saddle horn, was slung.
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He said he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice
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and his new ma whipped 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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He said he'd try to paddle his own can- oe.
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He'd said if we would give him work, he'd do the best he could
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Tho' he didn't know straight up, about a cow
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So the Boss, he cut him out a mount and he kindly put him on
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He sorta liked the little kid, some- how.
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Well he learned to jingle horses and to know them one and all
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And to get em in by daybreak, if he could
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And to follow the chuck wagon and to always hitch the team
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And to help the Cocinero rustle wood.
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We'd driven to Red River, the weather being fine
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We were camped out on the south side, in a bend
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When a 'Norther' commenced blowin' we doubled up our guard
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For it took all hands to hold the cattle in.
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Now little Joe, The Wrangler, was called out with the rest
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And though the kid had scarecly reached the herd
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When the cattle, they stampeded, like a hail storm long they fled
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And we were all a ridin' for the lead.
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Midst the streaks of lightnin', there was one horse up ahead
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Tryin' to stop the leaders in their speed
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Was little Joe, the wrangler, with a slicker o'er his head
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He was ridin' old Blue Rocket in the lead.
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Now we finally got em millin' and kinda quieted down
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And the extra guard, back to the wagon, rode
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But there was one a-missin', and we knew it at a glance
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Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe.
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Next mornin', just at daybreak, we found where Rocket fell
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Down in a washout, twenty feet be- low
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And beneath his horse smashed to a pulp his spur had rung the knell
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For our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe.
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Little Joe, The Wrangler, will wrangle nevermore
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His days with the remuda, they are o'er
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T'was a year ago last April, when he rode into our camp
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Just a little Texas stray and nothin' more.
