a Poem by George Hunter
There was a cowboy from Wyoming
Who sang to the cows in the gloaming.
-It was all they could take
-And it kept them awake.
They wished that he would start roaming.
So they gathered all around
And stomped his ass into the ground.
-'We're glad we closed his yap
-'Cause he sang nothing but RAP.
We just couldn't abide that sound.'
So they buried him there on the lone prairie
With nary a trace of him to see
And sang some tunes and had a ball
Singing 'Home On The Range' and 'The Cattle Call.'
-'The old time tunes are best
-To enable us cows to rest.
Of that modern stuff we'd had enough
So we fulfilled our quest.'