Брюс Кискаддон (Bruce Kiskaddon)

Pullin' Leather

Yes, a cow boy has his troubles,
  and he shore is out of luck,
Out a dozen miles from nowheres
  and his hoss begins to buck.
And he picks a place to practice
  on some mighty ugly grounds,
For you’d land amongst the cactus
  if he ever got you down.

So you aim to keep a straddle
  and you’ll ride him if you can,
‘Elst they’ll be a dehorned saddle,
  or they’ll be a one armed man.
You don’t look like much vaquero,
  he is floppin’ yore shirt tails.
You have lost yore old sombrero
  and you’ve broke some finger nails.

People say that pullin’ leather
  don’t show ridin’ skill. That’s true.
But you’d like to stick together
  till the argyment is through.
When you’re a slippin’ and a slidin’,
  you’ll admit at all events
If it doesn’t show good ridin’
  that it shows a heap of sense.

When you’re throwed it ain’t so pleasant
  with a dozen miles to walk.
No there ain’t nobody present,
  and the hoss of course cain’t talk.
You are hangin’ on and prayin’.
  You ain’t makin’ no grand stand.
You jest aim to keep a stayin’
  and you’ll do the best you can.