Trail driving was grueling for the Cowboy
Not all marshmallows and campfire stories
A Cowboys friends were few
Unless you counted the smelly Moo’s
They never slept very Sound
The Cows were up and down
you are up before dawn
With Cowboy wear on
Snaps and plaid shirts
full of holes and dirt
Day after day
The same cowpoke way
To get cattle to cross the stream
It took a big steer that was mean
The rest then would follow
If you crossed by the hollow
When the cattle drive over
He is No longer a rover.
When the cowpokes had a few sips
He will pull out the fiddle to his hip.
Scuffed up cowboy boots will scoot
With the rhythm of the fiddles, Rooty toot
When it starts all over again
The Cowpoke takes it on the chin
To Indian territory to pick up supplies
He is on to the next cattle drive
It is the life that you chose
That is just how it goes
As every Cowpoke-well knows
