Michael Ray Wilhelm - Ridge Runnin' Roan (originally penned by Carmen William "Curley" Fletcher) | Текст песни

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• Michael Ray Wilhelm
• Ridge Runnin' Roan (originally penned by Carmen William "Curley" Fletcher)

The Ridge-Running Roan

It was up in the Bad Lands, I was rangin' alone,
I first heard of this cayuse, The Ridge Runnin' Roan.
He was fleet as a deer and as tough as a mule,
Pretty as a picture and nobody's fool.

High headed and leggy, he was just built for speed;
The cowboy that roped him could own that there steed.
I figured the reason this bronk was still free
Was he never had crossed a mustanger like me.

So I went right to work and I got me a pair
Of the best saddle horses that ever wore hair.
I hunted that mustang and I took to his trail;
When he hit for the ridges he was packin' the mail.

I never did head him nor turn him about,
I aimed to just trail him till I wore him plum out.
Then for five or six days I gained not an inch;
He was wearin' no crutches and that was cinch.

He was tough as a boot and as wise as a fox;
He kept on the ridges and a-dodgin' the rocks.
I'd trail him till dark and at dawn I'd begin.
Till I got pretty weak and my horses got thin.

I followed those tracks till I got stiff and sore,
But he stayed right in front where he kept makin' more.
Then I got so I felt like a tired, locoed sheep
A-trailin' that fuzztail and a-losin' my sleep.

He went short for water, with no time to graze,
While I camped on his trail for seventeen days.
Then he got awful gaunt--he was wearin' out fast,
Till he looked like a ridge runnin' ghost at the last.

He was placin' his feet like he's walkin' on tacks,
Till I saw he was leavin' fresh blood in his tracks.
So I started to crowd him and turned him around,
He quit the rough ridges and hunted soft ground.

I shook out a loop when we got to a flat,
I threw a riata and it fit like my hat.
He sure gave up quick when I jerked out the slack,
Then I noticed some old saddle marks on his back.

I had done myself proud and I felt like a champ
When I got him all haltered and headed for camp.
He was strikin', and kickin', and plum fightin' mad.
I could see he was spoiled and sure enough bad.

Well, I got him at home and into the corral,
I fed him some hay and some oats for a spell.
When he got fat and strong and I gave him the news,
I hog-tied him down and nailed on some shoes.

Then I put on the bridle and I fixed it to fit,
It wasn't the first time that he'd champed a bit.
I threw on my saddle and I cinched it right down.
Then I crawled his old carcass--I was headed for town.

I drug out my quirt, 'case to me he looked tame,
Like a twenty-two pistol on a forty-five frame.
I got a deep seat and I froze to the cantle,
I jabbed in my meat-hooks clear up to the handle.

He let out a bawl and he went from that spot
Like the ground where he stood had sudden got hot.
He topped that first jump with a shimmy and shake,
Like a-poppin' the head from a live rattlesnake.

Then he went to sun-fishin', he sure was a peach,
And I turned from a wild-cat into a leech.
He was mad as a hornet and I guess he saw red,
He was handy afoot and his feet wasn't lead.

I thought I was up on the hurricane deck
Of an earthquake and a cyclone a-havin' a wreck.
I was doin' my best and was just gettin' by,
But he's doin' better with blood in his eye.

He was duckin', and dodgin', and a-walkin' the dog,
He had me so dizzy I was lost in the fog.
And then he got busy and the things that he did
Was like a volcano that had blew off the lid.

He was bawlin', and gruntin', a-humpin' the hump;
He turned wring side out with every new jump.
At ridin' bad horses I'm no crippled squaw,
But he showed some tricks that I never had saw.

With a giratin' jump he goes over the gate,
And I grabbed for the horn, but I was too late.
He hit with a jar that 'most shed his hair;
It buste

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