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A Cowboy's reincarnation

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  • A Cowboy's reincarnation

    A Cowboy's reincarnation

    What does reincarnation mean, a cowpoke asks his friend.
    His pal replied It happens when your life has reached its end
    They warsh your neck and comb your hair and clean your fingernails
    And put you in a padded box, away from life's travails
    The box and you goes in a hole, that's been dug in the ground
    And reincarnation starts in when you're planted 'neath a mound
    The clods melt down just like your box and you, who's inside
    And then you're just beginnin' on your transformation ride
    In a while the grass'l grow upon your rendered mound
    Till someday on your moldered grave a lonely flower is found
    Then say a hoss should wander by and graze upon this flower
    That once was you but now's become your vegetative bower
    The posey that the hoss done ate, with it's other feed
    Makes bone and fat and muscle, essential to the steed
    But some is left the hoss can't use and so it passes through
    And finally ends up on the ground, this thing that once was you
    Then say by chance I wanders by and sees this on the ground
    I ponders and I wonders at this object that I found
    I thinks of reincarnation, of life and death and such
    And come away concludin'
    Slim, You ain't changed all that much.
    In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes
    - Benjamin Franklin, U.S. statesman, author, and scientist

  • #2
    I thought that this one was pretty good also.


    Recorded by Marty Robbins
    Words and music by Marty Robbins

    Nobody knew where he came from
    They only knew he came in
    Slowly he walked to the end of the bar
    And he ordered up one slug of gin.

    Well, I could see that he wasn't a large man
    I could tell that he wasn't too tall
    I judged him to be 'bout five-foot three
    And his voice was a soft Texas drawl.

    Said he was needin' some wages
    'Fore he could ride for the west
    Said he could do most all kind of work
    Said he could ride with the best.

    There in his blue eyes was sadness
    That comes from the need of a friend
    And tho' he tried, he still couldn't hide
    The loneliness there, deep within.

    Said he would work thru the winter
    For thirty a month and his board
    I started to say where he might land a job
    When a fellow came in thru the door.

    And I could tell he was lookin' for trouble
    >From the way that he came stompin' in
    He told me to leave Shorty there by himself
    Come down and wait on a man.

    The eyes of the little man narrowed
    The smile disappeared from his face
    Gone was the friendliness that I had seen
    And a wild look of hate took its' place.

    But the big one continued to mock him
    And he told me that I'd better go
    Find him a couple of glasses of milk
    Then maybe Shorty would grow.

    When the little man spoke, there was stillness
    He made sure that everyone heard
    Slowly he stepped away from the bar
    And I still remember these words.

    Oh! it's plain that you're lookin' for trouble
    Trouble's what I try to shun
    If that's what you want, then that's what you'll get
    'Cause cowboy, we're both packin' guns.

    His hand was already positioned
    Feet wide apart on the floor
    I hadn't noticed but there on his hip
    Was a short-barreled Bass Forty-Four.

    It was plain he was ready and waitin'
    He leaned a bit forward and said
    When you call me Shorty, say Mister, my friend
    Maybe you'd rather be dead.

    In the room was a terrible silence
    As the big one stepped out on the floor
    All drinkin' stopped and the tick of the clock
    Said death would wait ten seconds more.

    He cussed once or twice in a whisper
    And he said with a snarl on his lips
    Nobody's Mister to me, little man!
    And he grabbed for the gun on his hips.

    But the little man's hands was like lightning
    The Bass Forty-Four was the same
    The Forty-Four spoke and it sent lead and smoke
    And seventeen inches of flame.

    For the big one had never cleared leather
    Beaten before he could start
    A little round hole had appeared on his shirt
    The bullet went clear thru his heart.

    The little man stood there a moment
    Then holstered the Bass Forty-Four
    It's always this way so I never stay
    Slowly he walked out the door.

    Nobody knew where he came from
    They won't forget he came by
    They won't forget how a Forty-Four gun
    One night made the difference in size.

    As for me, I'll remember the sadness
    Shown in the eyes of the man
    If we meet someday, you can bet I would say
    That it's me, Mr. Shorty, your friend.
    In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes
    - Benjamin Franklin, U.S. statesman, author, and scientist


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