Cowboys tell rhythmic tales and
try to make me laugh with their
talk about how they’re tough as nails.
They often tell of their love for fast
horses, cows, steers and most of
all, the beans they ate for dinner.
They sing about the stars above and
the wide open plains they ride upon
making their lives better than all the rest.
At the end of a hardscrabble day, they
gather like hornets in a nest and stories
about how hard they work, women they
lost and money they never had abound.
Sitting on the ground romantic stories
they tell make me dream of becoming
one of them, and I know I’d fit right in
when I begin.
I’ve lost every woman I ever had almost
as fast as I lost every cent I ever earned,
and never learned how to make any return,
so don’t be concerned, I’ve got a story to tell too.
Her eyes were round and dark brown. Staring into
them always sent my hormones rushing to a
cooler place because they’d catch fire
when she was around.
I couldn’t control my heart strings that vibrated
like wings when she came near and rubbed
her rump against me like she wanted to hump.
That gave me a lump that I tried to control.
Bless my soul, It wasn’t right that a married man
like me would have such an urge, but one day I
could no longer resist and took her into the barn
and had her assist me in closing the door.
We rubbed noses and then I grabbed her tits.
Moving behind her, I fulfilled my burning urge
and would have done it again if my wife hadn’t
opened the door and asked,
Why are you doing it with a cow when you have me?
Compared to her, the cow was svelte, she smelled
sweeter and her hair was neater.
I no longer have a home, but do own a guitar, a horse
and a cow that I love more than my wife. So you
see, I can compete with stories told by other cowboys