see him walkin’ proudly with his gal—
Walkin’ down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.”
Sal, Sal,
My heart is broke today—
Broke in two forever when they laid you in the clay;
I would give creation to be walkin’ with my gal—
Walkin’ down through Laramie with Snagtooth Sal.
Love Lyrics of a Cowboy
It hain’t no use fer me to say
There’s others with a style an’ way
That beats hers to a fare-you-well,
Fer, on the square, I’m here to tell
I jes can’t even start to see
But what she’s perfect as kin be.
Fer any fault I finds excuse—
I’ll tell you, pard, it hain’t no use
Fer me to try to raise a hand,
When on my heart she’s run her brand.
The bunk-house ain’t the same to me;
The bunch jes makes me weary—Gee!
I never knew they was so coarse—
I warps my face to try to force
A smile at each old gag they spring;
Fer I’d heap ruther hear her sing
“Sweet Adeline,” or softly play
The “Dream o’ Heaven” that-a-way.
Besides this place, most anywhere
I’d ruther be—so she was there.
She called me “dear,” an’ do you know,
My heart jes skipped a beat, an’ though
I’m hard to feaze, I’m free to yip
My reason nearly lost its grip.
She called me “dear,” jes sweet an’ slow,
An’ lookin’ down an’ speakin’ low;
An’ if I had ten lives to live,
With everything the world could give,
I’d shake ’em all without one fear
If ’fore I’d go she’d call me “dear.”
You wonders why I slicks up so
On Sundays, when I gits to go
To see her—well, I’m free to say
She’s like religion that-a-way.
Jes sort o’ like some holy thing,
As clean as young grass in the spring;
An’ so before I rides to her
I looks my best from hat to spur—
But even then I hain’t no right
To think I look good in her sight.
If she should pass me up—say, boy,
You jes put hobbles on your joy;
First thing you know, you gits so gay
Your luck stampedes and gits away.
An’ don’t you even start a guess
That you’ve a cinch on happiness;
Fer few e’er reach the Promised Land
If they starts headed by a band.
Ride slow an’ quiet, humble, too,
Or Fate will slap its brand on you.
The old range sleeps, there hain’t a stir.
Less it’s a night-hawk’s sudden whir,
Or cottonwoods a-whisperin while
The red moon smiles a lovin’ smile.
An’ there I set an’ hold her hand
So glad I jes can’t understand
The reason of it all, or see
Why all the world looks good to me;
Or why I sees in it heap more
Of beauty than I seen before.
Fool talk, perhaps, but it jes seems
We’re ridin’ through a range o’ dreams;
Where medder larks the year round sing,
An’ it’s jes one eternal spring.
An’ time—why time is gone—by gee!
There’s no such thing as time to me
Until she says, “Here, boy, you know
You simply jes have got to go;
It’s nearly twelve.” I rides away,
“Dog-gone a clock!” is what I say.
The Bull Fight
The couriers from Chihuahua go
To distant Cusi and Santavo,
Announce the feast of all the year the crown—
Se corren los toros!
And Juan brings his Pepita into town.
The rancherias on the mountain side,
The haciendas of the Llano wide,
Are quickened by the matador’s renown.
Se corren los toros!
And Juan brings his Pepita into town.
The women that on ambling burros ride,
The men that trudge behind or close beside
Make groups of dazzling red and white and brown.
Se corren los toros!
And Juan brings his Pepita into town.
Or else the lumbering carts are brought in play,
That jolt and scream and groan along the way,
But to their happy tenants cause no frown.
Se corren los toros!
And Juan brings his Pepita into town.
The Plaza De Los Toros offers seats,
Some deep in shade, on some the fierce sun beats;
These for the don, those for the rustic clown.
Se corren los toros!
And Juan brings his Pepita into town.
Pepita sits, so young and sweet and fresh,
The sun shines on her hair’s dusky mesh.
Her day of days, how soon it will be flown!
Se corren los toros!
And Juan’s brought his Pepita into town.
The bull is harried till the governor’s word
Bids the Diestro give the agile sword;
Then shower the bravos and the roses down!
’Sta muerto el toro!
And Juan takes his Pepita back from the town.
The Cowboy’s Valentine
Say, Moll, now don’t you ’llow to quit
A-playin’ maverick?
Sech stock should be corralled a bit
An’ hev a mark ’t ’ll stick.
Old Val’s a-roundin’-up today
Upon the Sweetheart Range,
’N me a-helpin’, so to say,
Though this yere herd is strange
To me—’n yit, ef I c’d rope
Jes one to wear my brand
I’d strike f’r Home Ranch on a lope,
The happiest in the land.
Yo’ savvy who I’m runnin’ so,
Yo’ savvy who I be;
Now, can’t yo’ take that brand—yo’ know—
The 
M-I-N-E.
A Cowboy’s Hopeless Love
I’ve heard that story ofttimes about that little chap
A-cryin’ for the shiney moon to fall into his lap,
An’ jes a-raisin’ merry hell because he couldn’t git
The same to swing down low so’s he could nab a-holt of it,
An’ I’m a-feelin’ that-a-way, locoed I reckon, wuss
Than that same kid, though maybe not a-makin’ sich a fuss—
A-goin’ round with achin’ eyes a-hankerin’ fer a peach
That’s hangin’ on the beauty tree, too high fer me to reach.
I’m jes a rider of the range, plumb rough an’ on-refined,
An’ wild an’ keerless in my ways, like others of my kind;
A reckless cuss in leather chaps, an’ tanned an’ blackened so
You’d think I wuz a Greaser from the plains of Mexico.
I never learnt to say a prayer, an’ guess my style o’ talk,
If fired off in a Sunday School would give ’em all a shock;
An’ yet I got a-mopin’ round as crazy as a loon
An’ actin’ like the story kid that bellered fer the moon.
I wish to God she’d never come with them bright laughin’ eyes—
Had never flashed that smile that seems a sunburst from the skies—
Had stayed there in her city home instead o’ comin’ here
To visit
