Theres a hundred years of history and a hundred before that All gathered in the thinkin goin on beneath his hat. And back behind his eyeballs and pumpin through his veins Is the ghost of every cowboy that ever held the reins. Every coil in his lassos been thrown a million times His quiet concentrations been distilled through ancient minds. Its evolution workin when the silver scratches hide And a ghostly cowboy chorus fills his head and says, Lets ride. The famous and the rowdy, the savage and the sane The bluebloods and the hotbloods and the corriente strain All knew his mothers mothers or was his daddys kin Til hes nearly purely cowboy, born to ride and bred to win. Hes got Buffalo Bill Cody and Goodnights jigger boss And all the brave blue soldiers that General Custer lost The ghost of Pancho Villa, Sittin Bull and Jessie James All gathered by his campfire keepin score and takin names. Theres every Royal Mountie that ever got his man And every day-work cowboy that ever made a hand Each man thats rode before him, yup, every mothers son Is in his corner, rootin, when he nods to make his run. Freckles Brown might pull his bull rope, Casey Tibbs might jerk the flank, Bill Picket might be hazin when he starts to turn the crank. Plus Remington and Russell lookin down his buckhorn sight All watchin through the window of this cowboys eyes tonight. And standin in the catch pen or in chute number nine Is the offspring of a mountain thats come down from olden time A volcano waitin quiet, til they climb upon his back Rumblin like the engine of a freight train on the track. A cross between a she bear and a bad four wheel drive With the fury of an eagle when it makes a power dive A snake whos lost its caution or a badger gone berserk Hes a screamin, stompin, clawin, rabid, mad dog piece o work. From the rollers in his nostrils to the foam upon his lips From the hooves as hard as granite to the horns with dagger tips From the flat black starin sharks eye thats the mirror of his soul Shines the challenge to each cowboy like the devil callin roll In the seconds that tick slowly til he climbs upon his back Each rider faces down the fear that makes his mouth go slack And cuts his guts to ribbons and gives his tongue a coat He swallows back the panic gorge thats risin in his throat. The smell of hot blue copper fills the air around his head Then a single, solid, shiver shakes away the doubt and dread The cold flame burns within him til his skins as cold as ice And the dues he paid to get here are worth every sacrifice All the miles spent sleepy drivin, all the money down the drain All the if Is and the nearlys, all the bandages and pain All the female tears left dryin, all the fever and the fight Are just a small downpayment on the ride he makes tonight. And his pardner in this madness that the cowboys call a game Is a ton of buckin thunder bent on provin why he came But the cowboy never wavers he intends to do his best And of that widow maker he expects of him no less. Theres a solemn silent moment that every rider knows When time stops on a heartbeat like the earth itself was froze Then all the ancient instinct fills the space between his ears Til the whispers of his phantoms are the only thing he hears When you get down to the cuttin and the leather touches hide And theres nothin left to think about, he nods and says, Outside! Then frozen for an instant against the open gate Is histry turned to flesh and blood, a warrior incarnate. And while they pose like statues in that flicker of an eye Theres somethin almost sacred, you can see it if you try Its guts and love and glory—one mortals chance at fame His legacy is rodeo and cowboy is his name. Baxter Black
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 21:38:09 +0000
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