Poets, Bards & Liars

POETS, BARDS & LIARS

Windy Bill

Anonymous

Windy Bill was a Texas boy

And he could rope, you bet.

And he swore that the steer he couldn't tie

He hadn't met as yet.

The boys knew of an old black steer,

And a sort of bad outlaw

Who run down in the malpais

At the foot of a rocky draw.

Now this old black steer,

He'd stood his ground with punchers from everywhere,

And the boys bet Bill two to one

That he couldn't quite get there.

So he saddled up his old grey hoss,

His back and withers raw,

And prepared to tackle that old black brute

That run down in the draw.

With his brass all spit and his Sam Stack tree,

And his shafts and tacks to boot,

With his old Magee tied hard and fast

He swore he'd get that brute.

Now the first time he come ridin' round,

This steer begin to paw,

Then he throwed his head up in the air

And went driftin' down the draw.

The old grey horse built to him,

For he'd been eatin' corn,

And Bill, he laced that old Magee

Around that black steer's horns.

The old grey horse he set up hard,

Bill's cinches snapped like straw,

And his Sam Stack tree and his old Magee

Went driftin' down the draw.

Bill lit in a flint rock pile,

His hands and face was scratched,

Says he, "Well I thought I could rope her better,

But I guess I've met my match."

He paid his debts like a little man,

Without a bit of jaw,

And allowed his old black he was the boss

Of anything in the draw.

Now there's a moral to my story, boys.

As you can plainly see,

Don't ever tie your old Magee

To your saddle tree.

But take your dallywelters

Accordin' to California law.

And you'll never see your Sam Stack tree

Go driftin' down the draw.