Out of a job, not making a dime; a fellow stepped up
And he said, "I suppose that you're a bronc rider,
From the looks of your clothes.
You guessed right. And a good one I claim.
Do you happen to have any bad ones to tame?
He said, I've got one. He's a bad one to buck,
And he'd take a good rider, who's had lots of luck.
A bronc never lived or ever drawed breath,
That I couldn't ride 'til he starved plum to death."
Out in the corral, all standing alone,
Stood an ugly old outlaw called Strawberry Roan.
He had little thin ears that touched at the tip,
And a big 44 brand on his left hip!
He had little glass eyes and a big Roman nose.
An ugly old outlaw to the tip of his toes.
I lit in the saddle and doing my best,
We went up in the East and came down in the West.
He tossed his old belly right up to the sun,
For he was a surprising son of a gun.
There are plenty of broncs that I cannot ride.
There are some of them living. They haven't all died.
But I bet all my money that no man alive
Can ride old Strawberry when he makes that high dive!