Bronc Buster Blues
Bought me a filly, wuz jist comin' two
Thought, hell, I'd break her, fer somethin' to do
Now, I'd never rode broncs, it wuz all new to me
Had a girl friend that bucked, when I wuz twenty-three
So, I got me a saddle with high swells and cantle
And saddle horn tall as a fireplace's mantle
It wuz genuine Hereford, with roughout pad seat
And bronc ridin' stirrups that jist fit my feet
I installed a seatbelt, jist fer good measure
To make ridin' broncs a absolute pleasure
I put on my Wranglers, my boots and my hat
An' spurs, an' gloves, an' chaps, an' all that
And bridled my filly, and cinched down the saddle
And climbed up on top, and sat there astraddle
While the horse was still tied, I instructed my wife
To go get some wire; it might save my life
With my boots wired together, I couldn't be throwed
No matter how high or how hard that hoss rode
But, jist to be sure, I applied super glue
To the rear of my jeans, and the saddle seat, too
When I thought I wuz ready, wired up and glued down
My wife pulled the knot, and the filly spun 'round
She snorted and jumped as I expected she'd do
Took three sideways steps, and then broke in two
They's apples in that tree, way up in the top
And I seen where the ridge on the barn roof needs caulk
That bronc done a chin-up on the corral fence top railin'
I'd done lost my grip and my arms wuz a flailin'
She bucked an' she squealed, an' she reared up an' kicked
An' right when I thought I might have that hoss licked
The saddle turned sideways, and then upside down
With me sittin' tall, my head to the ground
With boots wired together, stickin' up in the air
And glue soaked blue jeans stuck to my rear
That little hoss boogered, and started to run
I still had the reins, but I knowed I wuz done
I heard a rip in the seat of my britches
And I knowed fer shore I'd be needin' stitches
It's been a week now since I had that bad ride
And I still got an ice pack and tourniquet applied
My thighs are both bruised where they gripped the swells
And my head's got a knot, an' I keep hearin' bells
My naval's the shape of a bronc saddle horn
My knees rub together, cuz the cartilage is torn
My butt crack extends to the small of my back
And I think I'm a geldin', an' both eyes is black
My back side's turned purple, an' three shades of blue
An' it's missin' some hide, thanks to that glue
If I ever heal to the point I can ride
You can bet yer last dollar my boots won't be tied
And to Hell with them broncs, an' that ain't no joke
The hoss I'll be on will be gentle, an' broke!
(c) 1997 Mark Easley
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If you like Cowboy Poetry you will love Mark Easley's poems. We love them. I will be writing a little more about Mark in the days to come, and will share a couple more of his poems. If you like this be sure to leave a comment, I am going to make sure he sees them. I wish he would publish a book of his poetry, maybe you all can help me encourage him.
