The bronco’s mighty wild and tough,
And full of outdoor feelin’s:
His feet are quick, his ways are rough,
He’s careless in his dealin’s.

Each mornin’ he must have his spree,
And hand you plenty trouble
A-pitchin’ round the scenery
Till you are seein’ double.

Or mebby-so, you think he’s broke,
And do a little braggin’;
‘Plumb gentle hoss!’ he sees the joke,
And leaves–with reins a-draggin’.

Or, mebby-so, you think he’ll jump
That little three-foot railin’:
When all he does is stop and hump,
And stay–while you go sailin’.

But when his pitchin’ fit is done,
And ropin’, cuttin’, brandin’,
Is on the bill–I’ll tell you son,
He works with understandin’.

At workin’ stock he’s got his pride:
–Dust rollin’, boys a-yellin’–
He’ll turn your steer, and make you ride,
And he don’t need no tellin’.

Perhaps you’re standin’ middle-guard,
Or ridin’ slow, night-hawkin’:
And then your bronc is sure your pard,
At loafin’, or at walkin’.

Or, when the lightnin’ flashes raw,
And starts the herd a-flyin’,
He’s off to head ’em down the draw,
Or break your neck, a-tryin’.

A bronc he sure will take his part,
At gettin’ there or stayin’:
He’ll work until he breaks his heart,
Be he don’t sabe playin’.

He may be wild, he may be tough,
And full of outdoor feelin’s:
But he’s all leather, sure enough,
And he puts through his dealin’s.