Life on the Trail

 

Hi, my name is Tom Morgan

A cowboy of note

With my old battered hat

And my weather-beaten long coat

I have ridden the range

For almost fifty years

A life full of laughter

Along with some tears

With two trusty colt forty-fives

That hangs down by my side

And they have come in pretty handy

As I have ridden far and wide

My fellow cowboys and me

Have travelled many a mile

Throughout our lifetimes

With good cheer and a smile

Trail herding steers

A few thousand head at a time

Over thousands of miles

In the dust and the grime

Sleeping out under the Moon and the Stars

My faithful horse Old Blackie and me

Covered up in my blanket against the wind and the rain

And with Steers as far as the eye could see

Always on the lookout against rustlers and the like

Waking up with a stiff back and a fart

Looking forward to reaching the end of the drive

Heading straight for a bath and fun with a bawdyhouse tart

Though life was hard in the saddle

My backside sore day by day

Many an adventure was had

In a sad kind of way

Rounding up strays, that had a mind of their own

Or fighting off Indians gone bad

All of that hard tack, bacon and beans did us no good at all

And the loneliness at night rather sad

But I had always wanted to be a cowboy

Since I was a child

Ran away from home at fourteen

I was restless and wild

Got into a gunfight at the age of eighteen

With an outlaw named Bad Jack McGraw

But my hands were faster as I went for my guns

I beat him hands down to the draw

You never forget the first time you kill another man

No matter how bad he might be

As the bullets quickly ripped into his chest, body oozing life

All I could think of was stopping him killing me

Though it was a fair gunfight

He had drawn down on me first

From that sad afternoon

I was forever cursed

As being the man who had killed Bad Jack McGraw

Now known as the fastest gun alive

I disappeared into the shadows settling for life on the range

So as to have a better chance to survive

Because there’s always someone faster, quicker on the draw

Your life can be cut very short have no fear

And I wanted to live more than anything else at eighteen

Not killed by someone’s six-guns you might hear

So I took up a cowboy’s life, found me a reliable horse

That’s how me and Old Blackie got acquainted you see

Now we have been together for many a year

Against the world just him and me

Now we ride the range, inseparable, always together 

Against the elements we struggle, the heat and the rain

But though our life is hard and full of excitement and danger

We live it daily, again and again

 

 

Cowboys Lament

 

As I rise from my bed at the break of dawn

look in the mirror, red eyes and all

Cutthroat razor, hand unsteady

nervous as hell, at dawns early call

 

Make good my ablutions, get out my clothes

on with my wranglers, socks, boots and gun

Shirts a bit dirty, waistcoat the same

when you get to my age, it’s no longer fun.

 

Seventy years and five, quite a good length

many years a lawman, risking life everyway

how I’ve lasted this long, being what I was

now appreciate every passing day.

 

Now sat on the porch, rocking away

thinking of the past, times long ago

Gunfights a plenty when bad guys came to town

many an evening head held in woe.

 

Always someone wants to speak now

about the lawless days long time past

it’s now 1903 those days are gone

so glad they didn’t last.

 

Gun last drawn in anger

at least ten years or more

down in Dodge City

cannot remember what for.

 

Now I am thankful

for the rest of my life

spend time at home

with the kids and the wife.

 

Four wives admittedly

travelled quite a lot

passions occasionally

got rather hot.

 

Can’t blame a man for wanting

pretty women all around

sometimes had to leave town

not making a sound.

Chawathka

 

The Indian brave rides all alone

Beneath the mountains made of stone

Under the clouds that go sailing by

With heavy heart and occasional tear he will cry

Lost many tribesmen during the Indian wars

Though white men he killed by the scores

A war of hate from both sides

That’s why a lonely path he now rides

A fearless warrior, a commanding chief

Who had to lead his people through all the grief

See women and children killed at will

Many terrible sights he see’s still

Now he wanders in his buckskin clothes day and night

With his feather in his hair an awesome sight

With his trusted pony his only friend

He will now roam until his end

Chawathka, a last remnant of the Great Plains war

Now he rides and thinks what was it all for

Was it worth all the sacrifice

His people paid a terrible price

As they fought for freedom from the whites

But he still has nightmares during his lonely nights

And he will wander until his dying day

Under the Sun and Moon, riding every which way

 

 

 Pawnee Smith

 

Pawnee Smith an Indian lad

made a mistake when he turned bad

stabbed a man in Jericho

headed out for Mexico.

 

Stole a horse, rode out of town

had let all his friends down

now on his own against the world

so his story has now unfurled

 

Pursued now by the Pinkertons

they meant business they had guns

rode hard and fast to keep on his trail

what next for Pawnee, who could tell.

 

Bounty hunters took up the chase

now on his trail, knew his face

with a price upon his head

1,000 dollars some had said.

 

An outlaw now at eighteen years

living with almighty fears

of dying young so must ride fast

there is the river and border at last.

 

Thinking it was safe to cross

mind now playing tricks of course

didn’t see the riders there

bullets flying through the air.

 

Left shoulder hit and spins him round

off his horse, on to the ground

no time to fire his gun and run

and no longer was outlaw life much fun.

 

Captured now and all revealed

trial over fate now sealed

the gallows being built outside

looked mighty big, high and wide.

 

Last meal delivered ate and gone

now reflecting all alone

killed a man over a whore

stabbed him with the knife he wore.

 

Turn back the clock, no chance now

Dawn approaches fast and how

taken out to gallows high

looks up fatefully to the sky.

 

Any last requests the hangman says

before you’re gone with ended days

he stands there silent as levers triggered

another dead outlaw someone sniggered.

 

 

Pony Express

 

My name is Richard Egan

I’m eighteen years of age

if I was in a comic book

I would leap out from the page.

 

My adventures would enthral you

keep you on your toes

what you would make of me

Dear God only knows.

 

The date is January 27th in the 1860th year

the advert wanted men

who said they knew no fear

Pony Express riders, anyone could apply

being young and daring

I thought I’d give it a try

 

The job was to deliver mail

between Missouri and California

to arrive in ten days time

rough riding through the vast terrain

I would need to be in my prime.

 

With my trusty army colt revolvers

hanging by my side

with a sheath knife just for back up

I’d cross the great divide.

 

A trusty steed was needed

who could run and run all day

strong in heart and sound of limb

he’d be there come what may.

 

With Wild Bill Hickock and Buffalo Bill

I had some famous friends

they went on to fame and fortune

that where the story ends.

 

Stabbed twice and shot four times

left to die on two occasions

but made it through along with the mail

to me they were just abrasions.

 

Me, I rode for a number of years

fighting Indians the elements and the pain

risking life and limb

with very little gain.

 

 

 

 

 

Except my special self respect

for doing something well

because when the mail was delivered

the townsfolk thought it swell.

 

I was one of the lucky ones

lived beyond my teens

now an old man of many years

have lived to tell the tale it seems.