Cowboy poem, humorous, amusing, articulate, gravelly, country
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Senior (55+)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM) North American (US Western)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Away up high in the Sierra peats where the yellow jack pines grow tall. Old Buster jigs and Sandy Bob had a row deer camp last fall. Oh, they'd taken their ponies and their running irons and maybe a dog or two. And they allowed, they'd brand all the long eared calves that come within their view and any old doer that flat, long years and didn't push up by day. Got his long years whittled and his old hide sizzled in a most artistic way. Now, one fine day old Buster jigs, he throwed his seagull down. I'm tired. O cow pyre gray. And I allows, I'm a, goin to town so they saddles up and hits em a lope for it. Weren't no side of a ride. And them was the days when a buckaroo could oil up his dry insides. Oh, they starts her in, at the Kentucky bar at the head of Whiskey Row and it winds up down by the Depot house, some 40 drinks below. Then they sets em up and turns em around and goes the other way and to tell you that God forsaken truth. Them boys got stewed that day as they was a heading back to camp of packing a pretty good load. Who should they meet? But the devil himself come a prancing down the road. Now, the devil, he said, you cowboy skunks, you better go hunt your holes for. I've come up from hell's rimrock to gather in your souls says Buster Jiggs, old devil, be damned. We boys is kind of tight, but you ain't going to gather no cowboy souls without some kind of a fight. So I punched a hole in his old throw rope and his swagger straight and true. He lapped it on to the devil's horns and he's taken his dallies too. Now, Sandy Bob was a Riata man with his gut line coiled up neat. So he shakes her out and he builds him a loop and he lassoed de Devil's hind feet. Old Ace stretched him out and they tailed him down while the irons was a gettin hot. They cropped and swallow, forked his years. Then they branded him up a lot. They pruned him up with a de horn and saw and they nodded his tail for a joke. Then rode off and left him Beller in there nicked up to a Blackjack Oak. So if you're ever up high in the serie peets and you hear one hell of a whale, you know, it's that devil. A Beller around about them knots tied in his tail.