Copyright 1995-2005 - Chuck Pritchard

POETS, BARDS & LIARS

Now this story here, it's a little hard to believe

But the cowboy it happened to, he's the one that told it to me

We'll call him Bubba, a different sort of man

Lives way out west, in the valley of sand

A horseman by trade, he can sure get in their mind

But his attire was lacking, just wasn't up with the times

So he decided to splurge & invest in some fancy new footwear

The kind with the tops that stuck way up in the air

Oh he was so happy & they sure were keen

He was a struttin' around proud for the whole world to see

He saddles up & rides off on a colt that was about half broke

Just amblin' along & thinkin' like a good little cowpoke

All of a sudden his belly rumbled & he got a terrible urge

He'd best find a bush; his guts was gonna purge

A quick dismount, his body he had to quickly appease

And then he discovered that his pants was stuck, just right above his knees

Well, Ole Bubba got flustered; he didn't know what to do

And then it struck him, he'd just get shed of his cowboy shoes

A mighty struggle & he gets 'em off without a second to spare

And he gets squatted down just in time to pollute the air

Now that young pony, remember, he was pretty green

And something like this, he ain't never seen

His eyes rolled back & his nostrils flared at the scent

All his fears were aroused & his patience was spent

He cuts a chogey to the rear & he was gonna stampede

And just leave ol Bubba there a tryin' to fulfill his need

Now Bubba was scared, thought he might have to walk

And then get to town & listen to the snickers & all the people talk

So he tries to hold on while he's a squattin there on that hill

But gravity takes over and oh what a spill

His pants was clinched around his knees & wearin' just his socks

He gets jerked off to the side, down through the cactus & rocks

As he bounced & whined he tried to hang on to the reins

But he finally had to let go, he just couldn't bear the pain

He thrashed about nearly losing his temper

And upon further assessment, all he could do was whimper

His chonies full of sand, his pride all bruised & hurt

Boots way up on the hill & three holes in his shirt

Then his head cleared & he started to surmise

Must be tough as he thought, nobody else coulda' survived

His ego restored he arose like some sort of heathen meany

And uttered a sound never before heard by humans, when he discovered the cactus thorns a sticking out of his weenie.