or Ride Em Buckaroo
Don’t mean to be a barkin at ya this time o life
Reckon didley squat gets to cuttin, like a David Bowie knife
Ah do agree ta havin a pack o words to punch out now
O troublin words, gettin ta me, need more rope somehow?
This ain’t the lone prairie, an I’m not Dale Evans
Cussin n a feudin, makes spirited mares come unleavened
If’n t’were a wide open range for this gal
The rusted old Bronco truck, sure’d buck 'way fast as hell
Saddle me up with old Jed, the Clydesdale on my back
Cause weight o world’s dad blamed heavier n that
I’m foamin at the bit, and kickin and flingin wild oats
There’ll be hell ta pay if’n I don’t get away
Or good bye’s all she wrote .. in a little note.