Our Little Cowgirl

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Our Little Cowgirl

Thar she goes a-lopin’, stranger,

Khaki-gowned, with flyin’ hair,

Talk about your classy ridin’⁠—

Wal, you’re gettin’ it right thar.

Jest a kid, but lemme tell you

When she warms a saddle seat

On that outlaw bronc a-straddle

She is one that can’t be beat!

Every buckaroo that sees her

Tearin’ cross the range astride

Has some mighty jealous feelin’s

Wishin’ he knowed how to ride.

Why, she’ll take a deep barranca

Six-foot wide and never peep;

That ’ere cayuse she’s a-forkin’

Sure’s somethin’ on the leap.

Ride? Why, she can cut a critter

From the herd as neat as pie,

Read a brand out on the ranges

Just as well as you or I.

Ain’t much yet with the riata,

But you give her a few years

And no puncher with the outfit

Will beat her a-ropin’ steers.

Proud o’ her? Say, lemme tell you,

She’s the queen of all the range;

Got a grip upon our heart-strings

Mighty strong, but that ain’t strange;

’Cause she loves the lowin’ cattle,

Loves the hills and open air,

Dusty trails on blossomed canons

God has strung around out here.

Hoof-beats poundin’ down the mesa,

Chicken-time in lively tune,

Jest below the trail to Keeber’s⁠—

Wait, you’ll see her pretty soon.

You kin bet I know that ridin’⁠—

Now she’s toppin’ yonder swell.

Thar she is; that’s her a-smilin’

At the bars of the corral.