Little Joe the Wrangler

Little Joe, the wrangler, will never wrangle more
 His days with the Remuda, they are done
 'Twas a year ago last April, he joined the outfit here
 A little Texas stray and all alone
 'Twas long late in the evening, he rode up to the herd
 On a little old brown pony he called Chaw
 With his Brogan shoes and overalls, a harder-looking kid
 You never in your life had seen before
 His saddle was a Southern kack built many years ago
 An OK spur on one foot lightly hung
 While his hat roll in a cotton sack, was loosely tied behind
 And a canteen from the saddle horn, he'd slung
 He said he'd had to leave his home, his daddy'd married twice
 And his new Ma beat him every day or two
 So he saddled up old Chaw one night and lit a shock this way
 Thought he'd try and paddle his own canoe
 Said he'd try and do the best he could, if we'd only would give him work
 Though he didn't know straight up about a Cow
 So the boss, he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on
 For he sorta liked the little stray somehow
 Taught him how to herd the horses, learned to know them all
 To round 'em up by daylight if he could
 To follow the Chuck wagon and to always hitch the team
 And help the cosinero rustle wood
 We'd driven to Red River and the weather had been fine
 We were camped down on the South side in a bend
 When a norther commenced the blowing, and we doubled up our guards
 Where it took all hands to hold the cattle in
 Little Joe, the wrangler, was called out with the rest
 And scarcely had the kid got to the herd
 When the Cattle they stampeded, like a hailstorm on they flew
 And all of us were riding for the lead
 Amid the streaks of lightning, you could see a horse ahead
 It was little Joe the wrangler in the lead
 He was riding Old Blue Rocket with his slicker 'bove his head
 Trying to check the leaders in their speed
 At last, we got'em millin', and kind of quietened down
 And the extra guards back to the camp did go
 But one of them was missin', and we all knew at a glance
 'Twas our little Texas stray, poor Wrangler Joe
 Next morning just at sun up, we found where Rocket fell
 Down in a washout twenty feet below
 Beneath his horse, mashed to a pulp, his horse had ran the knell
 For our little Texas stray, poor Wrangler Joe