Posted on 08/09/2012 5:01:46 PM PDT by fatima
Love Johnny Horton!
From: RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK
BY
PAT O’COTTER
1918
THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL
A man that’s spent years knocking round “out in front”
Has most usually had lots of pals—
He’s mixed up with pardners at various times
And he’s had his affairs with the gals.
Now, a pardner’s peculiar in lots of his ways
And he’ll ditch you for various reasons,
And a gal never knows straight up from twice
And her mind seems to change with the seasons.
I’ve been in on good ground with pardners I’ve staked
And I thought they were square, till I found
They were trying to cross me, the miserable pups,
And whipsaw me out of my ground.
I’ve had a few pards that would stand the hard grind
And they’d stick through hard luck night and day;
They were all you could ask while you rustled for grub,
But they blew up when you uncovered the “pay.”
Way back in the “eighties” when I’m just a kid,
I crossed up with a breed gal I’d met
One winter at Circle; she cleaned me that year
And skipped out with all she could get.
I’ve fallen for females in half of the camps
That’s spread over this country up here,
But “square guys” or “pretzels” I couldn’t get by
And none of them stuck for a year.
I got kind of discouraged and quit the she sex
And figgered I’d just herd with males,
But it don’t make no difference, I guess that I’m wrong,
‘Cause there’s always the parting of trails.
I’ve had lots of dogs, but a dog always dies,
Or else the poor devil gets killed.
When you like ‘em and lose ‘em, their loss leaves a hole
That seems for a time can’t be filled.
So pardners and females and dogs is taboo
And I know, ‘cause I’ve fussed with ‘em all.
There’s only one pal that I know is true blue
And it’s that Thirty U.S. on the wall.
She’s stood by my shoulder and stopped a brown bear
And she keeps the cache full in the Fall;
She’s got the one talk that a claim jumper knows
And she craves no attention at all.
I’m getting old now, and some sot in my ways,
And I don’t loosen up like I did.
I’m slower to make friends and slower to trust
Than I used to be when I’m a kid.
So it’s good-by to females and good-by to dogs,
And good-by to pardners and all,
For the only one pal that I find I can trust
Is that Thirty U.S. on the wall.
*************************
This poem was apparently set to music by a Country-western musician up in Alaska and was fairly popular up in those parts, but I never could find a score or the tune to it, so I wrote my own which works pretty well.
Has anyone ever heard of it?
Hubbard is amazing.
A living American Icon
“Have Gun Will Travel” (Theme from Paladin)
“Bubba Shot The Juke Box” by Joe Diffie
“Rocky Raccoon” by The Beattles
“Send lawyers, guns and money”
First one I thought of and, IMHO, by far the best
Thanks, unique, for the music guy!
I'm A Little Teapot (the original)
Rolling Stones ~ Cops and Robbers
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiFgrCb6Z8M
An’ then he said: “You see this rock I got in my hand?
This is a 38 pistol built on a 45 frame
It shoots tombstone bullets an’ a ball and chain!”
Roland the Thompson Gunner (someone should post that one here) would be a good choice too.
Roland was a warrior from the Land of the Midnight Sun
With a Thompson gun for hire, fighting to be done
The deal was made in Denmark on a dark and stormy day
So he set out for Biafra to join the bloody fray
Through sixty-six and seven they fought the Congo war
With their fingers on their triggers, knee-deep in gore
For days and nights they battled the Bantu to their knees
They killed to earn their living and to help out the Congolese
Roland the Thompson gunner...
His comrades fought beside him - Van Owen and the rest
But of all the Thompson gunners, Roland was the best
So the CIA decided they wanted Roland dead
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen blew off Roland’s head
Roland the headless Thompson gunner
Norway’s bravest son
Time, time, time
For another peaceful war
But time stands still for Roland
‘Til he evens up the score
They can still see his headless body stalking through the night
In the muzzle flash of Roland’s Thompson gun
In the muzzle flash of Roland’s Thompson gun
Roland searched the continent for the man who’d done him in
He found him in Mombassa in a barroom drinking gin
Roland aimed his Thompson gun - he didn’t say a word
But he blew Van Owen’s body from there to Johannesburg
Roland the headless Thompson gunner...
The eternal Thompson gunner
still wandering through the night
Now it’s ten years later but he still keeps up the fight
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine and Berkeley
Patty Hearst heard the burst of Roland’s Thompson gun and bought it
Hear! Hear! Excellent assessment of the times!
I can’t believe noone said:
Shotgun Boogie-Tennessee Ernie Ford
Sink The Bismarck-Johnny Horton
Thanks, Joe.
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