Sung by: Otis Spradling
Recorded in Sitka, AR 8/4/61

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I’m hanging around town; I’m spending my time.
I’m out of a job, not making a dime,
When a fellow stepped up and he says, “I suppose
You are a bronc rider from the looks of your clothes.”
“You guesses me right; I’m a good 'un, I claim.
Do you have any wild ones that need to be tamed?”
Says, “Yes, I have one; he’s a bad one to buck;
In throwing rough riders he’s had lots of luck.”

Got so excited, I asked what he’d pay.
He says ten bucks to ride that old pony
A couple of days.
Says, “I’m your man. The bronc never lived
Or ever drew breath that I can’t ride
‘Til he starves to death.”

“Get in the buckboard. We’ll drive over to the ranch.
Get in the buckboard; I’ll give you your chance.”
Got up next morning just after the chuck,
Went out to see if that old critter could buck.
Went down to the horse corral; he was standing alone,
That old caballo, that strawberry roan.
He had little thin ears, was touched at the tip,
With forty-four . . . branded on his left hip.
He had a huge neck and a . . . jaw.
I could see with my eye he was a regular outlaw.

I popped the twine on him; how well I knew then
Before I got rode, I’d earn my ten.
I put the blinds on him; we sure had a fight.
Next come my saddle; I screwed her down tight.
Pushed back my hat, rolled up my twine,
Says the . . . cowpunchers, “We’ll watch him unwind.”
He really unwound; he didn’t spend much time on the ground.
He’s about the worst bucker I ever have found.

He’s about the worst bucker I’ve seen on the range.
He can turn on a nickel and hand you your change.
He went up east and come back west,
Staying in his middle, I was doing my best.
He turned over twice, started back to earth.
I lit into cussing the day of his birth.

I lost a hat, I lost my stirrups; there goes my hat.
Riding this old bronco as blind as a bat.
There’s some of them living; they haven’t all died,
There’s some of them living that I can't ride.
(Whoa, boy, whoa, whoa, whoa.)

Also found in Randolph, Vol. II, #202.

All Songs Recorded by John Quincy Wolf, Jr., unless otherwise noted

The John Quincy Wolf Folklore Collection
Lyon College, Batesville, Arkansas
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