Cowboy Lingo

By Gail T. Burton

I've never heard a cowboy sing out "woopie ti yi yo."
I've thought this situation over and there's things I'd like to know.
Where do these sayin's come from that no cowboy ever said?
I ain't never heard one say these things; I just guess it's things I've read.

And "ridin' down the canyon just to see the sun go down"?
Why! If he's ridin' out for pleasure he'd just ride on into town.
Cowboys get accused of things, and some just ain't true of course.
I bet you've never seen a cowboy stoop so low as to kiss his horse.

No cowboy ever come back: " When you say that to me, smile!"
It's most likely that he'd break his jaw and just lay him in the aisle.
"Pilgrim" ain't a word he'd use; he don't "mosey" anywhere.
His revolver only shoots six times, and no cowboy packs a pair.

That guitar he's a-strumming, as he rides along the trail;
I've always wondered where he puts it when he "ties up at the rail."
I've never seen a cowboy drinkin' "red-eye" by the shot.
I believe cold beer's his usual drink; bourbon also hits the spot.

I suppose some folks think they need to sweeten up the pot
and add some color to the cowboy just to make him what he's not.
Cowboys don't need buildin' up to show off their natural trait.
Although they're rough around the edge, that's the part that makes 'em great.

Whiskey Pete

by Gail T. Burton

She was just a little button, the day her Mama died,
and Whiskey Pete, the Cowboy, grit his teeth but never cried.
He just stood there at the grave side, red eyed with whiskey breath, tryin' to figure what to do; couldn't face the pain of death.

Next day he stumbled from his bed in an alcoholic haze,
facing the reality that he had a child to raise.
With no words he fixed her breakfast, cleaned the house up by-and-by, read stories to his daughter; still the cowboy didn't cry.

He was "Whiskey Pete the Cowboy," he'd been called that since his youth.
He'd earned the name they called him, if you really want the truth.
But he'd won the heart of someone; someone decent, full of life.
And tho' she knew his failings, she had still become his wife.

And he loved her with a passion that he couldn't hold inside,
and with the baby's coming he was all filled up with pride.
But he'd never stopped his drinkin', he was "Whiskey Pete," ya' see.
He's cowboy rough and ready and he's cowboy tough and free.

But that evening found him silent, thinking through the life ahead;
The job she'd left unfinished and the things his wife had said.
So next day he dressed his daughter, fixed her breakfast, combed her hair,
took her with him out to work ridin' on a gentle mare.

They fed cattle in the winter, checked on cows when calves were due,
greased windmills in the spring time while the months and seasons flew.
They learned to cook together, even learned to sew a bit
while altering tack and clothing so they'd get better fit.

He's still Whiskey Pete the Cowboy, tho' he didn't drink at all,
now he's always "Mister Mom," 4-H, church, and basketball.
Oh, they laughed a lot together, but sometimes he dried her tears,
and they kept ridin' side by side as the months turned into years.

He was rough and he was ready and the girl rode by his side,
but every bit a lady with her daddy there to guide.
He would help her with her homework, wash her clothes or braid her hair,
answer questions 'bout her life; always dealin' on the square.

They sat their caps for Whiskey Pete, but no girl could find his heart.
He was raisin' up a daughter -- and were seldom far apart.
He often thought about his wife, as he watched the evening sky,
and oft times felt her presence. Still the cowboy didn't cry.

Then like a fairy tale he came, tho' he'd been there all her life.
A rancher's son, a cowboy; she became a rancher's wife.
This young girl was now a woman with no flaw that you could see;
A tribute to her mother; you could trust this guarantee.

Wedding bells were softly ringing, as he walked her down the aisle,
and Whiskey Pete the Cowboy was decked out in his best smile.
Then he gave her hand in marriage as the cowboy pledged his love,
and knew the match was perfect; like arrangements made above.

The child was on her honeymoon, the house all quiet again,
and Whiskey Pete the Cowboy felt that old familiar pain.
He stood there with a photograph of the one who'd been his bride
and he said, "We've done our best."

After twenty years ... he cried.