Classics of the Genre
Under Construction
"Walkin' John"
Henry Herbert Knibbs
Where the Ponies Come to Drink
Henry Herbert Knibbs
Up in Northern Arizona
there's a Ranger-trail that passes
Through a mesa, like a faëry lake
with pines upon its brink,
And across the trail a stream runs
all but hidden in the grasses,
Till it finds an emerald hollow
where the ponies come to drink.
Out they fling across the mesa,
wind-blown manes and forelocks dancing,
Blacks and sorrels, bays and pintos,
wild as eagles, eyes agleam;
From their hoofs the silver flashes,
burning beads and arrows glancing
Through the bunch-grass and the gramma
as they cross the little stream.
Down they swing as if pretending,
in their orderly disorder,
That they stopped to hold a pow-wow,
just to rally for the charge
That will take them, close to sunset,
twenty miles across the border;
Then the leader sniffs and drinks
with fore feet planted on the marge.
One by one each head is lowered,
till some yearling nips another,
And the playful interruption
starts an eddy in the band:
Snorting, squealing, plunging, wheeling,
round they circle in a smother
Of the muddy spray, nor pause
until they find the firmer land.
My old cow-horse he runs with 'em:
turned him loose for good last season;
Eighteen years; hard work, his record,
and he's earned his little rest;
And he's taking it by playing,
acting proud, and with good reason;
Though he's starched a little forward,
he can fan it with the best.
Once I called him--almost caught him,
when he heard my spur-chains jingle;
Then he eyed me some reproachful,
as if making up his mind:
Seemed to say, "Well, if I have to--
but you know I'm living single..."
So I laughed.
In just a minute he was pretty hard to find.
Some folks wouldn't understand it,--
writing lines about a pony,--
For a cow-horse is a cow-horse,--
nothing else, most people think,--
But for eighteen years your partner,
wise and faithful, such a crony
Seems worth watching for, a spell,
down where the ponies come to drink.
by Henry Herbert Knibbs, from Songs of the Outlands, 1914
Purt' Near Perkins
S. Omar Barker
They called him "Purt Near" Perkins,
for unless the booger lied,
He had purt near done most everything that he had ever tried.
He'd purt near been a preacher
and he'd purt near roped a bear:
He'd met up with Comanches once
and purt near lost his hair.
He'd purt near wed an heiress
who had money by the keg,
He'd purt near had the measles,
and he'd purt near broke his leg.
He'd purt near been a trail boss,
and accordin' to his claim,
He had purt near shot Bill Hickock---
Which had purt near brought him fame:
He had purt near rode some horses
upon which no one else had stuck.
In fact he was the feller
who had purt near drowned the duck!
Most all the other punchers
on the lazy SB spread,
They took his talkin' with a grin
and let him fight his head.
But the foreman, Tom Maginnis,
sorta put it to him rough.
"You're ridin with an outfit now,
where purt near aint enough."
"We tie our lass' ropes to the horn,
an' what we catch we hold,
an' 'purt near' is one alibi
we never do unfold!
In fact, right now I'll tell you
that no two words I ever hear
sound so purely plain damn useless
as that little pair, 'purt pear.'"
Now that's how Tom Maginnis
laid it out upon the line,
an' like a heap of preachin talk,
it sounded mighty fine;
but one day Tom Maginnis
while a-ridin' out a lone,
he lamed his horse and had
to catch some neighbor nester's roan
to ride back to the ranch on,
but somewhere along the way,
a bunch of nesters held him up,
and there was Hell to pay!
Tom said he hadn't stole that horse--
just borrowed it to ride,
but them nesters hated cowboys,
and they told him that he lied.
They cussed him for a horse thief,
claimed they'd caught him with the goods,
so they set right out to hang him
In a near by patch of woods.
They had poor Tom surrounded,
had their guns all fixed to shoot.
It sure looked like this cowboy
had heard his last owl hoot!!
They tied a rope around his neck
and throwed it oe'r a limb
and Tom Maginnis purt near knowed
this was the last of him
when suddenly a shot rang out
from somewhere up the hill!
Them nesters dropped the rope an' run,
like nesters usually will
when the bullets start to whizzin'.
Then Tom's heart leapt up with hope
when he seen ol' Purt Near Perkins
ridin' toward him at a lope.
"I purt near got here just in time,"
ol' Purt Near Perkins said,
"to see them fellers hang you!"
Tom's face got kinda red.
"You purt near did!" he purt near grinned.
"They purt near had me strung!
You're a-lookin at a cowboy here
that has purt near just been hung!
And also one that's changed his mind....
For no two words ever said
can sound as sweet as "purt near"
when a man's been purt near dead!"
"The Sierry Petes" (Tyin' Knots in the Devil's Tail)
Gail Gardiner
for the complete text of this poem, follow this link: http://www.cowboypoetry.com/gardner.htm#poem
"The D-2 Horse Wrangler"
Dominick J. (Kid White) O'Malley
1867-1943
One day I thought I'd have some fun,
And see how punching cows was done;
So, when the roundup had begun,
I tackled a cattle king.
Says he: "My foreman is in town,
He's at the MacQueen, his name is Brown,
Go over, and I think he'll take you down."
Says I: "That's just the thing."
We started for the ranch next day,
Brown talked to me 'most all the way;
He said cowpunching was only fun,
It was no work at all;
That all I had to do was ride,
It was just like drifting with the tide,
Geemany chimany, how he lied;
He surely had his gall.
He put me in charge of a cavvy-yard
And told me not to work too hard,
That all I had to do was guard
The horses from getting away.
I had one hundred and sixty head,
And oft' times wished that I were dead,
When one got away Brown got red,
Now this is the truth, I say.
Sometimes a horse would make a break
Across the prairies he would take
As though he were running for a stake,
For him it was only play.
Sometimes I couldn't head him at all
And again my saddle horse would fall
And I'd speed on like a cannon ball
Till the earth came in my way.
They led me out an old gray hack
With a great big set fast on his back,
They padded him up with gunny sacks
And used my bedding all.
When I got on he left the ground,
Jumped up in the air and turned around,
I busted the earth as I came down,
It was a terrible fall.
They picked me up and carried me in
And rubbed me down with a rolling pin;
"That's the way they all begin,
You are doing well," says Brown,
"And tomorrow morning, if'n you don't die,
I'll git you another horse to try."
"Oh! won't you let me walk?" says I,
"Yes," says he, "back into town."
I've traveled up and I've traveled down,
I've traveled this country all around,
I've lived in city, I've lived in town,
And I have this much to say:
Before you try it go kiss your wife,
Get a heavy insurance on your life,
Then shoot yourself with a butcher knife,--
It's far the easiest way.
"The D-2 Horse Wrangler was" first published in 1894 in the Miles City Stock Grower's Journal.
"The Gringo Pistolero"
Allen Wayne Damron w/Tim Henderson
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/584919/what_my_favorite_song_means_gringo.html?cat=9
"Walkin' John"
Henry Herbert Knibbs
Where the Ponies Come to Drink
Henry Herbert Knibbs
Up in Northern Arizona
there's a Ranger-trail that passes
Through a mesa, like a faëry lake
with pines upon its brink,
And across the trail a stream runs
all but hidden in the grasses,
Till it finds an emerald hollow
where the ponies come to drink.
Out they fling across the mesa,
wind-blown manes and forelocks dancing,
Blacks and sorrels, bays and pintos,
wild as eagles, eyes agleam;
From their hoofs the silver flashes,
burning beads and arrows glancing
Through the bunch-grass and the gramma
as they cross the little stream.
Down they swing as if pretending,
in their orderly disorder,
That they stopped to hold a pow-wow,
just to rally for the charge
That will take them, close to sunset,
twenty miles across the border;
Then the leader sniffs and drinks
with fore feet planted on the marge.
One by one each head is lowered,
till some yearling nips another,
And the playful interruption
starts an eddy in the band:
Snorting, squealing, plunging, wheeling,
round they circle in a smother
Of the muddy spray, nor pause
until they find the firmer land.
My old cow-horse he runs with 'em:
turned him loose for good last season;
Eighteen years; hard work, his record,
and he's earned his little rest;
And he's taking it by playing,
acting proud, and with good reason;
Though he's starched a little forward,
he can fan it with the best.
Once I called him--almost caught him,
when he heard my spur-chains jingle;
Then he eyed me some reproachful,
as if making up his mind:
Seemed to say, "Well, if I have to--
but you know I'm living single..."
So I laughed.
In just a minute he was pretty hard to find.
Some folks wouldn't understand it,--
writing lines about a pony,--
For a cow-horse is a cow-horse,--
nothing else, most people think,--
But for eighteen years your partner,
wise and faithful, such a crony
Seems worth watching for, a spell,
down where the ponies come to drink.
by Henry Herbert Knibbs, from Songs of the Outlands, 1914
Purt' Near Perkins
S. Omar Barker
They called him "Purt Near" Perkins,
for unless the booger lied,
He had purt near done most everything that he had ever tried.
He'd purt near been a preacher
and he'd purt near roped a bear:
He'd met up with Comanches once
and purt near lost his hair.
He'd purt near wed an heiress
who had money by the keg,
He'd purt near had the measles,
and he'd purt near broke his leg.
He'd purt near been a trail boss,
and accordin' to his claim,
He had purt near shot Bill Hickock---
Which had purt near brought him fame:
He had purt near rode some horses
upon which no one else had stuck.
In fact he was the feller
who had purt near drowned the duck!
Most all the other punchers
on the lazy SB spread,
They took his talkin' with a grin
and let him fight his head.
But the foreman, Tom Maginnis,
sorta put it to him rough.
"You're ridin with an outfit now,
where purt near aint enough."
"We tie our lass' ropes to the horn,
an' what we catch we hold,
an' 'purt near' is one alibi
we never do unfold!
In fact, right now I'll tell you
that no two words I ever hear
sound so purely plain damn useless
as that little pair, 'purt pear.'"
Now that's how Tom Maginnis
laid it out upon the line,
an' like a heap of preachin talk,
it sounded mighty fine;
but one day Tom Maginnis
while a-ridin' out a lone,
he lamed his horse and had
to catch some neighbor nester's roan
to ride back to the ranch on,
but somewhere along the way,
a bunch of nesters held him up,
and there was Hell to pay!
Tom said he hadn't stole that horse--
just borrowed it to ride,
but them nesters hated cowboys,
and they told him that he lied.
They cussed him for a horse thief,
claimed they'd caught him with the goods,
so they set right out to hang him
In a near by patch of woods.
They had poor Tom surrounded,
had their guns all fixed to shoot.
It sure looked like this cowboy
had heard his last owl hoot!!
They tied a rope around his neck
and throwed it oe'r a limb
and Tom Maginnis purt near knowed
this was the last of him
when suddenly a shot rang out
from somewhere up the hill!
Them nesters dropped the rope an' run,
like nesters usually will
when the bullets start to whizzin'.
Then Tom's heart leapt up with hope
when he seen ol' Purt Near Perkins
ridin' toward him at a lope.
"I purt near got here just in time,"
ol' Purt Near Perkins said,
"to see them fellers hang you!"
Tom's face got kinda red.
"You purt near did!" he purt near grinned.
"They purt near had me strung!
You're a-lookin at a cowboy here
that has purt near just been hung!
And also one that's changed his mind....
For no two words ever said
can sound as sweet as "purt near"
when a man's been purt near dead!"
"The Sierry Petes" (Tyin' Knots in the Devil's Tail)
Gail Gardiner
for the complete text of this poem, follow this link: http://www.cowboypoetry.com/gardner.htm#poem
"The D-2 Horse Wrangler"
Dominick J. (Kid White) O'Malley
1867-1943
One day I thought I'd have some fun,
And see how punching cows was done;
So, when the roundup had begun,
I tackled a cattle king.
Says he: "My foreman is in town,
He's at the MacQueen, his name is Brown,
Go over, and I think he'll take you down."
Says I: "That's just the thing."
We started for the ranch next day,
Brown talked to me 'most all the way;
He said cowpunching was only fun,
It was no work at all;
That all I had to do was ride,
It was just like drifting with the tide,
Geemany chimany, how he lied;
He surely had his gall.
He put me in charge of a cavvy-yard
And told me not to work too hard,
That all I had to do was guard
The horses from getting away.
I had one hundred and sixty head,
And oft' times wished that I were dead,
When one got away Brown got red,
Now this is the truth, I say.
Sometimes a horse would make a break
Across the prairies he would take
As though he were running for a stake,
For him it was only play.
Sometimes I couldn't head him at all
And again my saddle horse would fall
And I'd speed on like a cannon ball
Till the earth came in my way.
They led me out an old gray hack
With a great big set fast on his back,
They padded him up with gunny sacks
And used my bedding all.
When I got on he left the ground,
Jumped up in the air and turned around,
I busted the earth as I came down,
It was a terrible fall.
They picked me up and carried me in
And rubbed me down with a rolling pin;
"That's the way they all begin,
You are doing well," says Brown,
"And tomorrow morning, if'n you don't die,
I'll git you another horse to try."
"Oh! won't you let me walk?" says I,
"Yes," says he, "back into town."
I've traveled up and I've traveled down,
I've traveled this country all around,
I've lived in city, I've lived in town,
And I have this much to say:
Before you try it go kiss your wife,
Get a heavy insurance on your life,
Then shoot yourself with a butcher knife,--
It's far the easiest way.
"The D-2 Horse Wrangler was" first published in 1894 in the Miles City Stock Grower's Journal.
"The Gringo Pistolero"
Allen Wayne Damron w/Tim Henderson
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/584919/what_my_favorite_song_means_gringo.html?cat=9
