He'd rode them in the wet.
He'd rode them in the drought.
and where the Bronx was big.
made of silver on his rig.
He said he never rode before
for such a little spread,
but well, if we had some Bronx to bust,
he'd snap a few, he said.
he kind of blinks his eyes
and toes a piece of ground.
Of course, he said, us punchers here
but, well, if your pride could
amongst a bunch of hicks,
Maybe you could learn us all
The stranger's name was Buck LaRue.
you'd think he learned the
But Joe, the old top -beater,
always counter -held his jaw.
He just rode him as they come,
never raised no big hurrah.
He cut LaRue some four -year -olds
and watched him snap them out.
This buck could fork a bronc,
of that there's little doubt.
But when they talked a -riding
in the evenings after chow,
that never failed to tell the others how.
you made a middlin' right
but Joe, I rode them awful
Why, I forked them in Wyoming
an d the South Dakota hills
where you gotta set them saltier.
They'll jolt you to the gills.
But Joe just went on ridin',
His spurs was never bloody,
and you never heard him blow.
when Buck LaRue got spilt
I guess this roan colt hadn't heard
how Buck had been around.
Damned his soul, said Buck,
and you could see it hurt his pride.
This two -bit ranch can't
that Buck LaRue can't ride.
So Buck screwed down on him once again.
The roan unraveled quick,
and where he throwed old Buck this time,
the dust was pretty thick.
The third time that he throwed him,
Buck's tongue forgot to wag.
and says, let me try that little nag.
Chances are he'll throw me
and said I'm just a local rider
from a little two bits spread.
Well Joe swung to the saddle,
raked that road both fore and aft,
the road done plenty bucking
but Joe just sat and laughed.
I'm just a poor old country boy
raised weak on country chuck.
ain't never seen an elephant
or spun the world like Buck.
I ain't never been around.
that a country bronco could
and Joe just sat there smiling,
setting deep down in the wood.
Once he done a lick of sperm
just to give the boys a show.
Buck stood there watching
with his head held kinda low.
Well, Joe rung him dry a -buckin'
like a ringer rings a shirt,
then he stepped down from the saddle,
being plenty fresh an d purred.
He says to Buck, You take him,
and give his hat a whirl.
Oh, in case he's still too tough for you,
just give him to your girl.
Now, there's a moral to this story,
as most of you have guessed,
and it's known by most cow punchers
most everywheres out west.
For most of us have noticed,
well, it's generally the case,
the toughest Bronx of big mouth rides
has been some other place.