My
boss he took a notion for to make a lot of dough,
A teaching eastern pilgrims how the cows are made to grow,
So he opens up a dude ranch and says 'Here my lads,
Teach 'em how to wrangle in the western fads.'
Out came a bunch of rannies (and most of them were
girls)
With crazy riding britches and sombreros on their curls.
One of them, a little blond, nay had a lick of sense,
Couldn't fork a bronco, keep off a post or fence.
I later learned she's ranch bred, as smart as smart
could be,
An expert at a ropin' for she even lassoed me.
Now if you're riding westward I'm giving you a bid,
Stop in and see the missus and the brown-eyed kid.
Harry Hicks (age 16)