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The dust has long since settled, his work has been done;
No more lonely campfires, no rides into setting sun.
All cattle have been rounded up, no ponies left to break;
No open ranges left to fence, no drought from sparkling lake.
”Drugstore Cowboys” roam the streets, and western tunes abound;
Yet throughout this great nation, can one true cowboy be found?
The kind of man who tamed his land, and fought off Indians too;
The kind who grew to love the land, and whose word was true?
Bronc riding was no game, and calf roping was how they earned their pay;
They didn’t perform like actors in some “made for Broadway” play.
A rope lasso was their tool, and not for doing tricks;
They didn’t care that city folk thought they were just hicks.
Deals were sealed with handshakes, no need for paper and pen;
A man who broke his word was considered less than a man back then.
Their work was hard, from before sunup till after dark most days;
Their world was cut and dried, black and white, not grays.
Men were strong and laws were weak, yet justice was swift and sure;
Cowboys solved their own problems, you see, they had a cinch cure.
A rope necktie would do the job, or a pistol clearing leather;
And if the offense was minor, there was always tar and feather.
It’s sad to say, but it seems to me, the time has come to pass;
The cowboy way is over, like the bison who roamed the grass.
Now cowboy rodeos are held, to put their skills on display;
But where were the rodeo clowns, when the real cowboys had their day?
No more lonely campfires, no rides into setting sun.
All cattle have been rounded up, no ponies left to break;
No open ranges left to fence, no drought from sparkling lake.
”Drugstore Cowboys” roam the streets, and western tunes abound;
Yet throughout this great nation, can one true cowboy be found?
The kind of man who tamed his land, and fought off Indians too;
The kind who grew to love the land, and whose word was true?
Bronc riding was no game, and calf roping was how they earned their pay;
They didn’t perform like actors in some “made for Broadway” play.
A rope lasso was their tool, and not for doing tricks;
They didn’t care that city folk thought they were just hicks.
Deals were sealed with handshakes, no need for paper and pen;
A man who broke his word was considered less than a man back then.
Their work was hard, from before sunup till after dark most days;
Their world was cut and dried, black and white, not grays.
Men were strong and laws were weak, yet justice was swift and sure;
Cowboys solved their own problems, you see, they had a cinch cure.
A rope necktie would do the job, or a pistol clearing leather;
And if the offense was minor, there was always tar and feather.
It’s sad to say, but it seems to me, the time has come to pass;
The cowboy way is over, like the bison who roamed the grass.
Now cowboy rodeos are held, to put their skills on display;
But where were the rodeo clowns, when the real cowboys had their day?
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The Cowboy Way
The Cowboy Way