Come along, boys, and listen to my tale
I'll tell you of my trouble on the old Chisholm trail.

Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,
Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.

I started up the trail October twenty-third,
I started up the trail with the 2-U herd.

Oh, a ten-dollar hoss and a forty-dollar saddle, --
And I'm goin' to punchin' Texas cattle

I woke up one mornin' afore daylight
And afore I sleep the moon shines bright

Old Ben Bolt was a blamed good boss,
But he went to see the girls on a sore-backed hoss. 

Old Ben Bolt was a fine old man
And you'd know there was whiskey wherever he would land. 

My hoss throwed me off at the creek called Mud,
My hoss throwed me off round the 2-U herd.

Last time I saw him he was going 'cross the level,
A-kickin' up his heels and a-runnin' like the devil.

It's cloudy in the west, a-lookin' like rain,
And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again.

Crippled my hoss, I don't know how,
Ropin' at the horns of a 2-U cow.

We hit Caldwell and we hit her on the fly,
We bedded down the cattle on the hill close by.

No chaps, no slicker, and it's pourin' down rain
And I swear, by God,  I'll never night-herd again

Feet in the stirrups and seat in the saddle,
I hung and rattled with them long-horn cattle.

Last night I was on guard and the leader broke the ranks,
I hit my horse down the shoulders and I spurred him in the flanks.

The wind commenced to blow and the rain began to fall,
Hit looked, by grab, like we was goin' to lose 'em all.

I jumped in the saddle and grabbed holt of the horn,
Best blamed cow-puncher ever was born.

I popped my foot in the stirrup and gave a little yell,
The tail cattle broke and the leaders went as well.

I don't give a damn if they never do stop;
I'll ride as long as an eight-day clock.

Foot in the stirrup and hand on the horn,
Best damnded cowboy ever was born.

I herded and hollered and I done very well,
Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'em go to hell."

Stray in the herd, and the boss said kill it,
So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet.

We rounded 'em up and put 'em on the cars,
And that was the last of the old Two Bars.

Oh it's bacon and beans 'most every day, --
I'd as soon be eatin' prairie hay.

I'm on my horse and I'm goin' at a run,
I'm the quickest shootin' cowboy that ever pulled a gun.

I went to the wagon to get my roll,
To come back to Texas, dad-burn my soul.

I went to the boss to draw my roll,
He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole.

I'll sell my outfit just as soon as I can,
I won't punch cattle for no damned man.

Goin' back to town to draw my money,
Goin' back home to see my honey.

With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky,
I'll quit punchin' cows in the sweet by and by.
Com a ti yi youpy, youpy ya, youpy ya,
Coma ti yi youpy, youpy ya.

traditional, from Songs of the Cowboys, 1921

Valokuvatorstain tämänviikkoinen aihe on uoma, ja sulavana jatkona edelliselle postaukselleni julkaisen tässä toisen Dallasin Pioneer Plazalla otetun kuvan, jossa näkyy lisää valtavasta, vanhan lännen karjanajoa kuvaavasta pronssimuistomerkistä nimeltä Trailing Longhorns. Elokuun lopun 44 asteessa ei ollut niin hirveän vaikeaa kuvitella, kuinka hikiset miehet ovat aikoinaan paimentaneet muhkeita pitkäsarvia puoliksi kuivuneen joenuoman ylitse Texasin armottoman taivaan alla...