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THE STORYTELLER
He wasn't much of a cowboy
But he could spin a good yarn
We kept him hangin' 'round
'Cause he had a heart big as a barn
He could make your sides ache
The way he could tell the tale
And there were so many to tell
He had to carry 'em around in a pale
I never heard the same one twice
Don't even know if I could survive 'em
Now, some of the boys said they had
But it took two cowhands and the Doc to revive 'em
He never told it the same way as before
So you'd think you'd know but then he'd twist
Just when you think you know who done it
It's neither the horse nor the girl who gets kissed.
He was a storyteller
Like none other you've ever heard
A one-of-a-kind sorta feller
Who could make ya laugh with just one word.
One day he just drifted on
And we never saw him again
We heard after awhile
That he was locked up in the pen
Then someone said he was hoboin'
Traded cowboyin' for a life on the rails
Sleepin' in boxcars and eatin' beans from a can
Bet he was homesick for the trails
It was rumored that he'd been shanghaied
And was sailin' the oceans blue
On a whalin' ship, with a peg-leg
The waddie who told us, swore it was true
We never knew just what really happened
Or where he ended up after he left
Maybe he did all those things - or none
But I'll bet he had a bunch more stories tucked away in his seachest.
© 2024 Brian McNeal
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MEMORIES OF MERLE
He was a hero to many and a father to some
Known far and wide for the songs he’d sung
But he was always just dad to his sons
Marty, Noel and Ben. From a legend they’d come
Livin’ in the shadow of a man bigger than truth
Runnin’ with the torch he lit in his wild and reckless youth
Embracing the legacy with all their love and sooth
Soulful voices with genetic timbre for fans to approve
You can see him in their faces and hear him in their voices
Preserving his memory when they had other choices
They're pickup truck boys when they could be Rolls Royces
His multitude of fans appreciate and rejoice
Memories of Merle live on in each of us
The time the big city trapped him in the bus
The time his mama told him not to cuss
Memories of Merle live in the songs he gave us
© 2024 Brian McNeal
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THEY DON'T WRITE TRAINS SONGS ANYMORE
Well, they don't write train songs anymore
We have problems in this country by the score
From the Rio Grande to Baltimore
All because they don't write train songs anymore
From the Southern border to the Eastern shore
Frustrated folks are hurtin' and sore
Barely gettin' by or downright poor
While the government keeps taking more and more
Back when train songs filled the air
A haircut every week, 'cause we cared
Our boots were spit and polished every day
In Sunday school we learned to pray
The world was a whole lot better way back then
We weren't afraid of coming to the end
Now truth is out the window and trust is out the door
All because they don't write train songs anymore
From the Rio Grande to Baltimore
Big problems in this country, that's for sure
The gap is wide from shore to shore
And you know, they don't write train songs anymore
No, they don't write train songs anymore
We have problems in this country by the score
The gap is wider than before
All because they don't write train songs anymore
Big railroads are now a thing of the past
And all the songs we sang didn't last
Ain't no one wants to hear 'em anymore
That's why I live behind a swingin' door
From the Rio Grande to Baltimore
Big problems in this country, that's for sure
The gap is wide from shore to shore
And you know, they don't write train songs anymore
© 1985-2025 Brian McNeal
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SPURS THAT JINGLE
I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle
The first from a man with a twinkle
Some with silver, some with nickel
Honestly obtained, none from swindle
I got boots and chaps in a sack
I got saddles and tack in the back
So much leather I can't keep track
Everywhere there's a bootjack
I got ties to wear when I care
String ties and bolo ties to spare
Hand-painted silk ties when I dare
Whoopi Ties every day of the year
I got horseshoes galore by the score
Oughts and double oughts for sure
On horses feet or in the parlor
Boxes of horseshoes on the floor
I got spurs I weld back together
Horseshoes that hold stacks of leather
Welded frogs and flowers in the weather
Horseshoe chimes on a tether
I got spikes I pick up on the tracks
Cut 'em down and weld 'em back
I got spikes to hang a hat up on a rack
Got no time to slip in through the crack
I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle
Some in pairs and some intermingle
I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle
Sleeping on a shelf like Rip Van Winkle
I got bells and chimes that ring-a-ling
Large and small and oh how they sing
I got bells for paupers and bells for kings
Swaying in the wind like a bird on the wing
Oh big brass bell, (big brass bell)
You're so big and heavy, I sure wish you would sell
And they say, "Oh ain't you done with this by now?"
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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THE COLLECTION
He had a bunch of old cowboy spurs
That were just so very fine
And he gave them all to me by and by
When it finally had become the time
They were all prized possessions
Of a boot and saddle maker's life
Each one had a story to tell,
If you could get it told, from him or his wife
Up on the shelf they sat,
That collection of cowboy spurs so grand
A custom perch for each and every one
On cactus spines and candle stands
The envy of many an old puncher
Who'd given his away or lost 'em over time
You could watch 'em drool over the hand-crafted silver
And spin the rowels to hear their chime
There was branded pairs like Blanchards
And Bohlins, Duckworths and Crockett
There was Kellys and Garcias and more
All on the shelf, ceptin' the one he kept in his pocket.
It was once a beautiful silver inlaid Gal-leg set
That would make a cowboy walk with a gait
Over time and more than a few owners,
It became just a single spur that had lost it's mate
The loneliness of a "Onesy" is hard to describe
Sorta like havin' a body without a side.
So he held on to it day after day and hunted for its partner
All the while just hopin' it hadn't died
Goin' through the barrels - first one and then the next
At each and every bit n spur show,
'Cuz the one that got away just might be lookin too
For the other that was lost so long ago.
Now they've all been uprooted & moved
A thousand miles from his estate to mine
But I can't tell the tale of how they came to be
Or how hard they were to find
And that one solitary yoke, shank and rowel
That constituted a cowboys motivatin' iron
Well, now it sits lonely on the shelf without a mate
But still, none the less admired.
© 2020 Brian McNeal
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THE COWBOY SONGWRITER
He's a cowboy musician
Then he's a cowboy spouse
Soon he's a cowboy father with a family addition
To some he was just a no-good louse
Time and cowboy maturity took care of that
Cowboy songwriting too, I suppose
Anonymous revelations were the caveat
And then there was cowboy music to compose
Behind prison walls he collaberated
Guarding men who'd made a mistake
Words to tell the tales awaited
A country song with a jailbreak
He had the lemons to make the lemonade
He knew the stories wouldn't tell themselves
He had the goose, just waiting for the golden egg
All he had to do was pull the words off the shelves
Tune up that old country guitar
Try it out first in the key of "B"
Modulate it up with a slide bar
Forget about what was learned in theory
Tell the whole saga in a three minute song
Struggle to find just the exact lure
Paint the picture so we can sing along
Like a fish we won't know we're hooked until we're secure
Now he's a songwritin' cowboy grandad
The wisdom of the years behind
Today, a freight car full of glad
Ahead, pure gold waiting to be mined
He's a cowboy musician
Then he's a cowboy spouse
Soon he's a cowboy father with a family addition
To some he was just a no-good louse
Time and cowboy maturity took care of that
Cowboy songwriting too, I suppose
Anonymous revelations were the caveat
And then there was cowboy music to compose
Behind prison walls he collaberated
Guarding men who'd made a mistake
Words to tell the tales awaited
A country song with a jailbreak
He had the lemons to make the lemonade
He knew the stories wouldn't tell themselves
He had the goose, just waiting for the golden egg
All he had to do was pull the words off the shelves
Tune up that old country guitar
Try it out first in the key of "B"
Modulate it up with a slide bar
Forget about what was learned in theory
Tell the whole saga in a three minute song
Struggle to find just the exact lure
Paint the picture so we can sing along
Like a fish we won't know we're hooked until we're secure
Now he's a songwritin' cowboy grandad
The wisdom of the years behind
Today, a freight car full of glad
Ahead, pure gold waiting to be mined
© 2024 Brian McNeal
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