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TUMBLEWEED TERROR
The young cowboy had taken a part time job pumpin' gas
It was the off season for cattle and it cost money to buy grass
A cold and blistery Wyoming winter day was nothing new
Fighting off the boredom as the few people wanting gas drove through
A young blonde gal with Illinois license plates pulled up and rang the bell
She was at the self-serve pumps, where it was cheap, but she couldn't tell
Being blonde had it's benefits the way she saw things
She was a princess and the cowboy was certainly no king
Trying to talk sense to an Eastern wanna-be queen is ludicrous
But it's just enough to make a young cowboy become unscrupulous
She wanted the cheaper fuel clearly marked on the five foot sign
And somehow she thought her entitlement meant he'd be obliged
So the lad pumped her tank full of premium leaded high-test
And engaged her in polite conversation like he did for all the rest
He learned this was her very first trip out West and she was beguiled
She held the image of gunfights, saloons and reputations defiled
Too many Western movies and TV shows had corrupted her reality
She was disenchanted with paved streets and traffic like the Grand Prix
Too much modernism and progress had concealed her ideal
She wanted to see the wild and wooly West with all it's charm and appeal
Just then, a Russian thistle, better known as a Wyoming tumbleweed, rolled in on the wind
She looked like she'd seen a ghost, an apparition. It shook her and put her in a tailspin
She'd never seen one live and in person. They don't have them on the streets of Chicago
She'd only seen them on the silver screen with John Wayne, Gabby Hayes and Marlon Brando
So the young cowboy knew he had her at last and he played it for all it was worth
He led her on, told her it was only the beginning. What was yet to come was worse.
Soon the Indians would come with war paint, tomahawks and blood curdling screams
Stealing, burning, taking hostages and generally butchering a young blonde girl's dreams
Well, she turned that '69 Charger around and headed back for Illinois like a scared rabbit
Traveling East as fast as she could go, hoping to escape the carnage of the redman's habit
He finally lost sight of her taillights in the dust as he held his sides with laughter and glee
A tenderfoot filly terrified out of her wits at the sight of a Western tumbleweed
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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OLD TOP RAIL
Oh the many stories I could tell
Of the beasts contained within
The docile and the meek
And those who came from hell
Of the days I held the best
The horses of the plains
The mustangs of the mountains
And them who came to tame the West
When old Tomahawk Jim broke his back
Crashing down from a sunfish buck
Landing hard like a Scud
In a Persian Gulf attack
Of the years of searing sun
Burning away my youthful looks
And the years of brand new little tykes
Climbing to the top, just for fun
Yes, the stories I could tell you
So many good ones on the list
Which ones would you like to hear?
Just pick a few, one or two, from the menu
Oh, if only. If only I had a voice
You would be mesmerized
Fascinated with the escapades
Of horses here by force and cowboys here by choice
© 2024 Brian McNeal
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THE DANGERS OF A CLOSED CASKET
The old cowboy faded away quietly one day in Autum
He'd lived a life fullfilled with grace and mercy
And left behind a gentle wife, who wished not to embalm
"Then a closed casket it will have to be," said Parson Percy
A young and raucous rowdy died in a barroom fight
Fists and bullets competed in the air for space
Many wounds and bruises stumbled home from the bar that night
But this not-big-enough-for-his-hat rounder fell from grace
He too, was nailed down tight in a box of pine
Both young and old lay side by side at the mortician's
With only one style of coffin ever offered at the time
Just which was which? You'd never get an admission
Services were held and no one thought it contrite
Resting in glorious eternity is the soul's goal
Funeral director by day and drunkard by night
Who can say who's in which six foot hole
Consternation, confusion and chaos at the pearly gates
Saint Pete can't find the name of this jaded jasper
"Maybe you're early, maybe you're mixed up on your dates"
Meanwhile down below an old cowboy is facing certain disaster
Heaven's detectives were set to work
To find out just how this mistake was made
When they learned of the cowboy below about to cook
St. Pete said, "I'll work it out and find a way to make a trade"
So the young rowdy was admitted to heaven by default
St. Pete had no choice but to let him pass
Heaven would never be the same after this sidewinder assault
"There goes the neighborhood," said Pete, "we just got our first jackass"
Well, the young rounder caused all kinds of pandemonium
Upsetting the tranquility and leading angels astray
He lied, cheated, commited fraud and sold cubic zirconia
Heaven got so bad that even the Almighty began to pray
St. Pete knew he had to get rid of this hooligan
Heaven was no longer the same after he sold off cloud nine
If he stayed, no one could tell just what Heaven would become
So, St. Pete devised a way to rid the here-after of this swine
He called him in and told him he was going down, but only half way
He'd be sent back to Earth for a test to see if he could change
There he'd stay as they watched his actions from day to day
Either he'd return upstairs or end up in Hell's firey range
So it was decided and approved that he'd be sent out
St. Pete wasn't pleased with the way he'd turned Heaven into a dump
He gave the jasper specific instructions to be followed without doubt
And so he would never be able to return he changed his name to Trump
...
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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GUNPOWDER FOR BREAKFAST
Well, it had been widely circulated around the ranch
If a feller were to sprinkle gunpowder all over his meal
Every day of his life, he'd live well past his heavenly chance
It's what everyone talked about and believed to be real
Well, 'ol Gus said his family were not long-livers
Said his grampa died young at just fourty seven
His own father was only fourty three when he got the shivers
So he might as well postpone his own trip to heaven
Gunpowder Gus is what we called him the rest of his days
He put that stuff on his breakfast every morning at sunrise
He lived a long a fruitful life and died at 96 years of age
He swore the gunpowder was not the cause of his demise
It's what kept him going and added years to his life's run
We had his memorial service in the high school auditorium
He left behind 6 children, 24 grand children and 60 great grand children
But what we'll remember most was the 16 foot hole he left in the crematorium
...
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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DESERT SNOWMAN
If you think he felt out of place
That snowman with the smile on his face
On a blistering summer desert day
Just wait till you see him driving the sleigh
If you think that perhaps he didn't belong
That yard-art built to stand up strong
Next to the rusty lizard and armadillo
Just waitin' for the bloomin' rebar ocotillo
With black top hat and turquoise necktie
He never speaks - always tongue tied
Don't go near, he'll prick you sure
Better walk around, take the scenic detour
Stately standing watch over all the yard
Magnificently, like the Queen's Royal Guard,
Along with the saguaro, intruders get double-teamed
Home security from a snowman made of tumbleweeds
So, if you think you've seen it all and there ain't no more
You ain't been down to Arizona's West Coast shore
Whether he be painted white or left au naturel
He'd be the perfect sentry if he wasn't so damned flammable
© 2025 Brian McNeal
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