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Capotraste 3ª casa
Tom: F
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Little Joe, The Wrangler, will wrangle nevermore
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His days with the roundup, they are o'er
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Was a year ago last April, when he rode into our camp
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Just a little Texas stray and nothin' more.
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Was late in the ev'nin', when he rode into our camp
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On a little Texas pony, he called Chaw
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With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher lookin' kid
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You never in your life before, had saw.
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His saddle was a Texas 'kack' built many years ago
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An O.K. spur on one foot, lightly swung
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With his pack rolled in a cotton sack, so loosely tied behind
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And a canteen from his saddle horn, was slung.
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He said he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice
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His new ma whipped him every day or two
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So he saddled up old Chaw one night and "lit a shuck" this way
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He said he'd try to paddle his own can-oe.
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He'd said if we would give him work, he'd do the best he could
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Tho' he didn't know straight up, about a cow
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So the Boss, he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on
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He sorta liked this little kid, some-how.
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He learned to wrangle horses and learned to know them all
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And get them in at daybreak, if he could
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And to trail the old chuck wagon and always hitch the team
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And help the "cookie" ev'nin's - rustle wood.
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We had hardly reached the Pecos, the weather it was fine
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We were camped down on the south side, in a draw
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When a 'Norther' commenced blowin' and we doubled up our guard
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It took ev'ryone of us, to hold them in.
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Little Joe, The Wrangler, was called out with the rest
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Scarcely had the little fellow reached the herd
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When the cattle, they stampeded, like a hail storm on, they fled
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And ev'ryone was ridin' for the lead.
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A-mid the streaks of lightnin', there was one horse up ahead
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He was tryin' to catch the leader in their speed
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It was Little Joe, The Wrangler, with a slicker o'er his head
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He was ridin' old Blue Rocket in the lead.
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At last, we got them millin' and kinda quieted down
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And the extra guards, back to the wagon, went
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But there was one a-missin', you could see it, at a glance
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Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe.
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Next mornin', just at daybreak, we found where Rocket fell
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Down in a washout, twenty feet be-low
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Be-neath his horse, his life was gone, his spur had rung its knell
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Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe.