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A COWBOY'S AFTERNOON

Now ol' San Antone can be dry as a bone
in the heat of a high sittin' sun.
So long about noon in the Sagebrush Saloon
came a cowboy just lookin' for fun.

Appearance allows he had been punchin' cows
on the range just south-east of town.
His face had been fried into leathery hide
and he flaunted a permanent frown.

I tended the bar and the beauty Belle Starr
was dancin' about purty frisky.
His spurs gave a jingle that made my skin tingle
as he walked up to me and said, "Whiskey."

"Here's the best that I got," and I poured him a shot
which he slammed down his throat with great force.
"I'll have the jug mister," he leaned in and whispered,
"and a bucket of beer for my horse."

"He thirsty?" I laughed as I drew out the draught
and gave him the bucket of brew.
"It's a hot, dusty trail so I owed 'im a pail,"
then he added a brief, "this'll do."

With a bow-legged stride he headed outside
and they drank till the sun had gone down.
Then he and his horse took an amblin' course
to the herd just south-east of town.