A slightly less serious noteThe Strawberry Roanby Curley FletcherI was laying round town just spending my timeOut of a job and not makin' a dimeWhen up steps a feller and he says, "I supposeThat you're a bronc rider by the looks of your clothes?"He guesses me right. "And a good one I'll claimDo you happen to have any bad ones to tame?"He says he's got one that's a good one to buckAnd at throwing good riders he's had lots of luck.He says this old pony has never been rodeAnd the man that gets on him is bound to be throwedI gets all excited and I ask what he paysTo ride this old pony a couple of days.He says, "Ten dollars." I says, "I'm your manThe bronc never lived that I cannot fanThe bronc never tried nor never drew breathThat I cannot ride till he starves plumb to death."He says, "Get your saddle. I'll give you a chance."We got in the buggy and went to the ranchWe waited till morning, right after chuckI went out to see if that outlaw could buck.Down in the corral, a-standin' aloneWas this little old caballo, a strawberry roanHe had little pin ears that touched at the tipAnd a big forty-four brand was on his left hip.He was spavined all round and he had pidgeon toesLittle pig eyes and a big Roman noseHe was U-necked and old with a long lower jawYou could tell at a glance he was a regular outlaw.I buckled on my spurs, I was feeling plumb fineI pulled down my hat and I curls up my twineI threw the loop at him, right well I knew thenBefore I had rode him I'd sure earn my ten.I got the blind on him with a terrible fightCinched on the saddle and girdled it tightThen I steps up on him and pulled down the blindAnd sat there in the saddle to see him unwind.He bowed his old neck and I'll say he unwoundHe seemed to quit living down there on the groundHe went up to the east and came down to the westWith me in the saddle, a-doing my best.He sure was frog-walkin', I heaved a big sighHe only lacked wings for to be on the flyHe turned his old belly right up to the sunFor he was a sun-fishin' son of a gun.He was the worst bronco I've seen on the rangeHe could turn on a nickel and leave you some changeWhile he was buckin' he squalled like a shoatI tell you that outlaw, he sure got my goat.I tell all the people that pony could stepAnd I was still on him a-buildin' a repHe came down on all fours and turned up on his sideI don't see how he kept from losing his hide.I lost my stirrups, I lost my hat,I was pullin' at leather as blind as a batWith a phenomenal jump he made a high diveAnd set me a-winding up there through the sky.I turned forty flips and came down to the earthAnd sit there a-cussing the day of his birthI know there's some ponies that I cannot rideSome of them living, they haven't all died.But I bet all money there's no man aliveThat can ride Old Strawberry when he makes that high dive.
"The burned hand teaches best. After that, advice about fire goes to the heart." - Gandalf (J.R.R. Tolkien)"Up here for thinking, down there for dancing, don't get 'em mixed." - Mr Baldwin, my 3rd Form woodwork teacher (original author unknown)