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Trouble For the Range Cook
Come wrangle your bronco and saddle him quick!
The cook is in trouble down there by the creek!
Oh, cinch up your latigoes all of your runts,
And pull 'em so tight that your 'ol bronco grunts.
We'll need all the punchers the foreman can send,
'Cuz the chuckwagons mired down there by the bend.
The cattle are scattering all over the plain,
While the punchers are yelling in language profane!
But let 'em spread out-for the cooks in a muss,
And quicksand's are causing the fellow to cuss.
Oh, this is the time every puncher's his friend,
'Cuz the chuckwagon's mired down there by the bend!
Come with your ropes that are heavy and stout!
No grub for the bunch till the wagon's pulled out!
It's in to the hubs and sinking down slow,
And cookie is a cussin' and watching it go!
Come, hustle, you punchers and haul him to land,
Before we are conquered by water and sand!
A-straining of ropes and a-grunting of nags,
And woe to the puncher whose lariat sags!
It's spur them and quirt them and make them lay to-
And now she is moving! And now she is through!
It's worth all the time and effort required,
'Cuz it's nothing to eat when the chuckwagon is mired!
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