Ghostriders |
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GHOST RIDERS The range is no longer open, the prairie isn’t free But the sky 's is full of herds and riders you can’t always see On a stormy night in Texas if you look up at the sky You won’t just see the lightning or black clouds rollin’by The sky is full of ghostly figures, their scout ‘way out ahead Long dead cowboys herding cows one hundred long years dead The thunder of their hooves echoes in the driving storm A flash of light, a clap of thunder and a true stampede is born Hooves go pounding, driving , thundering o'er the open plain Amid the flash of lightning and sheets of driving rain. Across the stormy sky they ride as fast as any bird Ghost riders of the prairie tryin’ to turn the racin' herd A gopher hole, a fallen steed, a wrangler dead upon the ground And now his spirit rides across the sky without a sound Many a wranglers’ fallen while the wild stampede raced on But now they ride the range again though a hundred years long gone The drumming of their hooves is the thunder that you hear These galloping brave cowboys in their worn old ridin' gear The lightning flashes are their campfires, the moving clouds their herds, Wearin’ Stetsons with a halo hovering close above their head. In lightnings flash and thunders crash I'll see them by and by, The ghosts of long gone cowboys stormin' through the sky The old herd is stampedin' and headin' out the downward way Down the primrose path to face God's wrath that final round up day. There's no rest for a cowboy even long after he's dead While city folk relax at home or are snorin' in their bed They'll ride the range in Heaven way up beyond the sky And one day we'll ride it with 'em if we live right 'fore we die. by MizTinny and Fretherne from Chuckwagon Tales ©2004 (Lorene Poe ) |

A PONY NAMED TONY
BY
MIZ TINNY AND FRETHERNE
(C) 2005
FROM CHUCKWAGON TALES
When Ah was a kid
Ah always did
‘Zactly what I was told
I got a pony
I named him Tony
When I was twelve years old
I loved him like a brother
Didn’t want no other
Since he was out of the fold
Roundin’ up steers
For the next eight years
We worked the
Had a chuck wagon cook
Didn’t use no book
His beans and stew made us pale.
We was pardners surely
The day he felt poorly,
Hobblin' slow, his head hangin' low.
But I had no sense
Tried to jump a fence
And down fell poor old Tony
The foreman spoke
His leg is broke
Ya gotta shoot that pony
It broke mah heart to do it
And I think Tony knew it
As we looked our last good byes.
Ah shot him through the head,
Ah wept and cried
Leavin’ him where he died
On the hard trail lying dead
Ah walked home to the ranch
Washed my face in the branch
Then sat down and cried some more.
The old trail boss
Said he don’t need no cross
We’ll remember him evermore
So he sleeps alone
With no gravestone,
The prairie for a bed.
ButAh tell you
He still gallops through
The memories in my head