WILD 'N WOOLY
Wild and wooly is how the West has been described
Rowdy, onery cowboys overdosed and pie-eyed
Shoot-'em-ups and free-for-alls on every street
No law to stop 'em and no way they can be beat
But that's not the case as it actually was
The notion, as stated, is full of flaws
In reality, the West was dull most of the time
Work from sunup to sundown to make a dime
Crimes of any kind were more rare than not
Eastern writers falsified the facts they bought
A cowboy riding a range all day just won't sell
So a "Gunslinger" was invented for a story to tell
Most of the terms were coined by the writers of fiction
Tranquility doesn't sell, but what does, is friction
No one was ever killed by a "Gunslinger" in the old west
The word was first used by a Hollywood scriptwriter, obsessed
The way it really was, is not what we've been led to believe
Long before the Internet, there were those bound to deceive
Believe what you will, but the truth is always best
Whenever you think about the wild and wooly west
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
BEEVES 'N BEANSBatwing chaps and thunderclaps and stampede strings.Canvas flappin' in the wind and the dinner bell rings.Chuck tastes good as wood on the coals too long.The cook rants as the cowboys sing their grumblin' song.
Beans, beans and more beans — always taste the same.To give 'em a better taste, Cooky always changed their name.Mexican Strawberries and Whistle Berries are the best.But even Pecos Berries and Prairie Berries pass the test.Range finders in the front and dust eaters in the rear.Sun up to sundown, hot and dry and never a saloon near.Medicine jug was death on the spot, if ever caught.Crew parched and anxious, rowdy and fraught.
Over hill and dale, a thousand head on the dustry trail.Fording, forging and ferrying to get these cows to the sale.No rain to be found for days, then no way to get dry.Are we trailing beeves to market or chasing away the blue tail fly?
Herd cutters on the right, double the watch each and every night.Sleep when we're dead and wish for a dry bed under a red light.Hamonica blowing soft in the air, the song I love dear.Miss my gal with her golden hair, whispering in my ear.
When the drive is over, we'll be in clover for a while.We'll drink our fill and kiss the lips of a rattlin' reptile.Galloots in boots shooting up the streets without a care.Money all spent. Haven't got a cent. Well, wait till next year.© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
THE JUG MARKER
The jug marker came to town
Markin' jugs up and down
He'd mark the jugs that were round
He'd mark every jug he found
Empty jugs and jugs half-full
Whiskey jugs and those wrapped in wool
Sample some with a spoonful
Some with a big mouthful
No one wanted to see him
He made the town mighty grim
Everyone sing a hymn
And turn the lamp down dim
Stills in the hills and brawlers in the hollers
Everyone needin' to make a dollar
Lucky feller — the square-dance caller
The only man with a starched collar
Here comes the Jug marker man
Scramble away anyway you can
Hide the hooch in the bedpan
Dat's duh way dey do in Loos-i-ann
He's gonna mark them jugs with a pistol shot
Wish all your tipple had been bought
Survival like this is a longshot
Look out you don't end up in a funeral plot
The jug marker came to town
Markin' jugs up and down
He'd mark the jugs that were round
He'd mark every jug he found
Empty jugs and jugs half-full
Whiskey jugs and those wrapped in wool
Sample some with a spoonful
Some with a big mouthful
No one wanted to see him
He made the town mighty grim
Everyone sing a hymn
And turn the lamp down dim
Stills in the hills and brawlers in the hollers
Everyone needin' to make a dollar
Lucky feller — the square-dance caller
The only man with a starched collar
Here comes the Jug marker man
Scramble away anyway you can
Hide the hooch in the bedpan
Dat's duh way dey do in Loos-i-ann
He's gonna mark them jugs with a pistol shot
Wish all your tipple had been bought
Survival like this is a longshot
Look out you don't end up in a funeral plot
Ain't no holes in no jugs of mine
A jug with a hole holds no shine
Jug man comin' up the lane, we get a sign
Drop 'em in the creek on a piece of twine
Foolish Jug man got off track
Foolish Jug man found the wrong shack
Jug man, Jug man ain't comin' back
No more Jug man, drowned in a sack
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
WHOOPI TI-YI-I, TIE YOUR OWN
Once upon a time whenever a cowboy duded up
In his best bib and tucker, ready for the winner's cup
With a cravat around his neck, knotted or slipped through a ring,
Weddings, funerals or the Saturday dance was a time for cowboy bling
Custom-painted with western scenes on silk hand-dyed
Once upon a time whenever a cowboy duded up
In his best bib and tucker, ready for the winner's cup
With a cravat around his neck, knotted or slipped through a ring,
Weddings, funerals or the Saturday dance was a time for cowboy bling
Custom-painted with western scenes on silk hand-dyed
Mastering the art of tying the knot was a matter of pride
Perfection in the craft and in the manner of dress
Cowboys became dandies in order to impress
Wrap it around your neck then loop it on itself
Fiddle and fuss ten times, then eleven and finally the twelfth
It took awhile to get it right and look dashing
Always necessary to avoid a wife's tongue-lashing
Then along came something they called "clip-ons"
Pre-tied with a perfect knot turning cowboys into cons
Fooling the world with fake looks turns one inside out
Real cowboys found out quick not to go that route
Silk cravats, wild rags, scarves or bandanas
From down around Tucson all the way to Montana
Cowboys have always known
It's best to whoopi-ti-yi-i - tie your own
Perfection in the craft and in the manner of dress
Cowboys became dandies in order to impress
Wrap it around your neck then loop it on itself
Fiddle and fuss ten times, then eleven and finally the twelfth
It took awhile to get it right and look dashing
Always necessary to avoid a wife's tongue-lashing
Then along came something they called "clip-ons"
Pre-tied with a perfect knot turning cowboys into cons
Fooling the world with fake looks turns one inside out
Real cowboys found out quick not to go that route
Silk cravats, wild rags, scarves or bandanas
From down around Tucson all the way to Montana
Cowboys have always known
It's best to whoopi-ti-yi-i - tie your own
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
KANSAS CHAPS
The kind of britches that don't need a belt
Got their own 'spenders too, you bet
Hook 'em over your shoulder, back to front
Adjust 'em a little and let out a grunt
Bib overalls is what some say
The best thing for a farmer's dayA pocket for a pencil up topLike a farmer needs a pencil to plant a crop"Bibs" in some parts of the landDungarees is the word in jolly old England"Idaho Tuxedo" is the name in PocatelloOK for eating Jello but not for concert celloSome like to wear their "Jumpers"Which is fine if you're Smokey or ThumperSeems there's a different name for 'em all over the mapAnd some think if you wear 'em, you must be a sapConclusions drawn as a matter of inference.'Cause it's hard for some folks to tell the differenceA sodbuster in bibs and straw hatSomehow looks like a cowboy in leather chapsDon't know why they can't tell 'em apartShould be easy if you know where to startEven the lingo is different if you listen closeAnd cowboys have hair under their noseThey grow a lot of potatoes up in IdahoBut you'll never see those bibs at the Sun Valley RodeoCornhuskers need 'em in Nebraska tooBut you won't see 'em worn by the Ogalala SouixBacon makers in Iowa like 'em tucked in to their muck bootsDown in the mud as the pig rootsAnd in Kentucky they wear 'em with a tie and coat"Dress overalls!" Now ain't that somethin' to float your boatIn Kansas, they grow a lotta corn in rowsSo the northern stockyards can feed their cowsBut cowboys keep their cattle on the rangeTo some, eatin' what comes natural seems strangeMoonshiners wear 'em when they take a slugBriscoe Darling wore 'em when he played the jugI've seen 'em worn bare-chested when a guy ain't shyAnd I've seen 'em worn with a starched shirt and bow tieWaders is what they're called when you're in the streamA little different fabric but still a fashion screamWith boots attached, you can pump 'em full of hot airHang on tight and save a bundle on plane fairSo now it should be easier for you to see how different they areMen in bib overalls don't look like cowboys near or farTry to remember: Overalls equals "Farmer"Leather, worn on his legs, is cowboy armourNow when someone comes up and tells youHow great they are and you should wear 'em tooNo matter how much their mouth flapsYou'll know why cowboys always call 'em Kansas chaps.
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
KERCHIEFS
Now Grandad always called 'em "Kerchiefs"
He said, "This is a ranch, not a circus"
He didn't care if they came with fancy price tags
He just didn't hold with anyone using the term "Wild Rags"
Once, we had a good hand who came down from Montana
He always liked to wear a paisley printed, red bandana
Grandad didn't care if that's what the feller wanted to wear
Bandanas weren't offensive to his sense of flair
The Mexican cook we had from Buckeye
Always used a Windsor knot and wore it like a necktie
He called it a corbata, which, in Spanish, means cravat
All good with Grandad, but if you called it a wild rag, he wouldn't have it
I remember once when old Bill Stewart came back from town
He was all duded up in a new silk wild rag, gold and brown
Now he was widely known as a real top hand
But he said the wrong thing when he told Grandad
Old Bill was struttin his stuff and showin' off his new scarf
But when he used the wrong name, Grandad made him take it off
We don't use the term "Wild Rag" at the Diamond Cross
Grandad wouldn't allow it while he was the ranch boss
Well, ol' Bill just thought that was a bit too much to ask
And he stomped his foot and refused to do the task
Grandad told him to pack his truck and be gone
You didn't cross Grandad or break a rule and stay long
Years later, when I was in charge of the outfit
I asked Grandad about the "Wild Rag" incident
What was it that made ol' Bill misunderstand?
He said, "A feller who can't tame a scarf can't be much of a hand"
Now Grandad always called 'em "Kerchiefs"
He said, "This is a ranch, not a circus"
He didn't care if they came with fancy price tags
He just didn't hold with anyone using the term "Wild Rags"
Once, we had a good hand who came down from Montana
He always liked to wear a paisley printed, red bandana
Grandad didn't care if that's what the feller wanted to wear
Bandanas weren't offensive to his sense of flair
The Mexican cook we had from Buckeye
Always used a Windsor knot and wore it like a necktie
He called it a corbata, which, in Spanish, means cravat
All good with Grandad, but if you called it a wild rag, he wouldn't have it
I remember once when old Bill Stewart came back from town
He was all duded up in a new silk wild rag, gold and brown
Now he was widely known as a real top hand
But he said the wrong thing when he told Grandad
Old Bill was struttin his stuff and showin' off his new scarf
But when he used the wrong name, Grandad made him take it off
We don't use the term "Wild Rag" at the Diamond Cross
Grandad wouldn't allow it while he was the ranch boss
Well, ol' Bill just thought that was a bit too much to ask
And he stomped his foot and refused to do the task
Grandad told him to pack his truck and be gone
You didn't cross Grandad or break a rule and stay long
Years later, when I was in charge of the outfit
I asked Grandad about the "Wild Rag" incident
What was it that made ol' Bill misunderstand?
He said, "A feller who can't tame a scarf can't be much of a hand"
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
ROLL YER OWNS
 |
| "Smoking Up" - Aritst Unknown |
A pack of papers and a pouch of pure sweet plum
Tobacco rolled up tight for a puff on the runCowboys rolled 'em up one at a time as need beExcept Dex, who rolled one in each hand simultaneously
A vest pocket up on top was the locker for suchMoney was kept in the right and watch in the leftTailors learned real quick to put an extra pocket on a vestSo a cowboy could keep his smokes close to his chest
A "baccy" pouch, sometimes made of fancy hideExotic skins acquired in some sort of trade on the sideBut mostly, just the cloth bag it came in from Bull DurhamYellow string, tag flippin' in the breeze, was a smoker's telegramIf one cowboy had the makins and another didn'tA trade could be made if the one without was deficientTobacco might be a cowboy's pay in some parts and accepted in good faithOften bartered for new duds, beer, trail gear or female company at Etta's place
Ain't much can stop a cowboy's smokin' addictionBack to the wind and a cupped hand is a mustA hand-rolled fag, a match and some frictionA small inconvenience to battle the gusts
When factory rolled, store-boughts finally came to townA "Sissy-Stick" in a cowboy's mouth could never be foundA cowboy wanted a "quirly" which emphasized the twistAin't nothin' like DIY smokes from the wild and wooly west
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
FAMILY TREE
A cowboy's family tree don't always go too far
It started way back before the hundred-years war
The tree forked as it should throughout the years
Until it reached the cowboy's slot where it tears
He can trace it all the way back to ol' Aesop
But going forward, here is where it stops
A real dead end right at the cowboy's entry
Seems he wasn't the sort that was complimentary
Cowboys didn't have time for courtin' or sportin'
His genealogy progress was thwartin'
When there might be a Saturday dance in town
The cowboy was miles away, on the range, with a frown
Sometimes the cowboy died before he could find a mate
Some Indian or desperado decided his fate
His branch was pruned before its time
Never to be foliated with the fruit of the vine
Rivers flooding and herds stampeeding took their toll too
The chance for a cowboy to live long was hoodoo
Rattlesnakes and poor judgement came along for the ride
Cholera, diphteria or pox, and sometimes he just laid down and died
A bad poker hand with an ace up his sleeve
Or a long rope from the gallows without a reprieve
Befriending a rank Judas like Bob Ford
Or missin' the steer and getting gored
A million ways to die in the west
A cowboy's chance of livin' was a real test
Cut down in his prime before his seed was sewn
A cowboy without a branch of his own
A cowboy's family tree don't always go too far
It started way back before the hundred-years war
The tree forked as it should throughout the years
Until it reached the cowboy's slot where it tears
He can trace it all the way back to ol' Aesop
But going forward, here is where it stops
A real dead end right at the cowboy's entry
Seems he wasn't the sort that was complimentary
Cowboys didn't have time for courtin' or sportin'
His genealogy progress was thwartin'
When there might be a Saturday dance in town
The cowboy was miles away, on the range, with a frown
Sometimes the cowboy died before he could find a mate
Some Indian or desperado decided his fate
His branch was pruned before its time
Never to be foliated with the fruit of the vine
Rivers flooding and herds stampeeding took their toll too
The chance for a cowboy to live long was hoodoo
Rattlesnakes and poor judgement came along for the ride
Cholera, diphteria or pox, and sometimes he just laid down and died
A bad poker hand with an ace up his sleeve
Or a long rope from the gallows without a reprieve
Befriending a rank Judas like Bob Ford
Or missin' the steer and getting gored
A million ways to die in the west
A cowboy's chance of livin' was a real test
Cut down in his prime before his seed was sewn
A cowboy without a branch of his own
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
THE DADDY OF 'EM ALL
Parades and rodeos and sightseers in townArcades and night shows and overseers aboundThe biggest event all year, every year"The Daddy of 'em All," is what I hear
A million people and more crowd the streetsCowboys, Indians, horses and teepeesRoyals and nobles and commoners uniteA rip-roarin' re-creation of an old-west delight
The most spectacular event in the universeIt's when the world empties its purseTo pay for the thrills of every girl and guyIt's Cheyenne Frontier Days every July
© 2025 Brian McNeal
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────