Cowboy Poetry - "Young Stan The Cowhand"

http://www.kingwoodkowboy.com/

This is not a song. It's "cowboy poetry", designed to be recited,
without music, or with background guitar/fiddle/steel-guitar music.

Young Stan The Cowhand (Larry W. Jones 06/19/2007) (song#4732)

Young Stan, the cowhand, was a greenhorn saddle tramp
His hand as a drover had not yet begun
He rode into camp just as we were lighting the lamp
A young saddle tramp with a Texas six gun

He was too late for supper except for left over beans
To his pony, we gave hay that was green
With his boot soles all worn and the holes in his jeans
He couldn't have been more that sixteen

His saddle was a sight with stitches coming undone
He wore a pair of Texas spurs but one rowel was gone
We wanted to tell him to go back to where he'd begun
But the look on his face told us, wait til the dawn

He said his Mama had gone to her final rest
His Daddy tried to raise him as he knew best
But the work was too slim and so was the pay
So he saddled his pony to make his own way

Young Stan, the cowhand, still had much to learn
About how to handle a herd of wild cows
So the trail boss told him, his wage he must earn
By being a good drover of cattle somehow

He started as a helper behind old Cookies's chuckwagon
Spent his time learnin' til his boots were a-draggin'
He wrangled with the horses and he gathered the wood
And as a fine cowhand, we all learned that he could

On the Goodnight-Loving trail, camped just south of Raton
We were headed for Cheyenne, how fat the cattle had grown
In the middle of the night, we heard the thunder with fright
And heard the little dogies bawl as the rain started to fall

Young Stan, the cowhand, joined the other cowboys real fast
The time for being a greenhorn was seen as being now past
The longhorns and dogies stampeded, their hooves fairly flew
As the bright lightning flashed and the stormy winds blew

At the head of the wild eyed pack, a Texas six gun we heard
It was young Stan, the cowhand, riding hell-bent on his steed
He was shouting and riding like a bird as his pony he spurred
Trying to turn the stampeding longhorns that were in the lead

At last the stampede was over, thanks to a Texas six gun
Cowboys that night had earned their brand
They all rode back into the camp, that is, except for one
That cowboy was young Stan, the cowhand

His pony showed up at dawn, bridle dragging and alone
Climax Canyon runs through that land
He died at the bottom of that draw, but he had shown
The hero was young Stan, the cowhand

Young Stan, the cowhand, was a greenhorn saddle tramp
His hand as a drover was now over and done
He had ridden into camp as we were lighting the lamp
A young saddle tramp with a Texas six gun