He’s a ropin’ ridin’ cowboy,

and he rides the range all day,

Watching out for rustlers-

He will chase them all away,


He wears his boots and spurs that

jingle when he walks,

With chaps and old felt cowboy hat,

He “yes mams” when he talks;

There’s an old red kerchief on his neck

His plaid shirt is worn and frayed,

But he won’t give up his outfit,

for that’s the cowboy’s way;


He’s got a gun and holster and

He wears it all the time;

He’s ready to go at it if

the crooks get out of line.

His faithful horse is waiting

right outside the kitchen door,

He swaggers as he climbs it

Keen to ride the range once more

So, his pistol is a cap gun

and his ride’s a hobby horse,

And the cattle he is roping

are the cats and dogs, of course,


But he’s the hero of the west,

Always brave and strong and bold,

He’s a ropin’ ridin’ cowboy

Although he’s only four years old


Sandra Lee Smith  February


Sandy’s note–the young cow boy I have described

was just as I described it so this is dedicated to my

Brother Bill whose birthday is just a week away.



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