Cowboy Poetry

Cowboy Poetry at its finest, by Cowboy Poet and singer/songwriter TJ Casey of Montana.

 

Here are just a few of TJ's Cowboy Poetry Poems: 

 

Not Without a Fight
The price of cows, is mighty low,
The price of feed is high,
The cowman shakes his weary head,
And looks up to the sky,
He prays he'll make another year,
Altho he don't know how,
The bank won't loan no money,
On one more head of cow,
It's been a way of life for him,
This family operation,
He hoped that he could make it thru,
Just one more generation,

He'd seen it when the years were good,
And he'd managed things just right,
But now, no matter where he turns,
It's more and more a fight,
He wonders, should I sell it?
Or just dig my heels in,
He knows he came out good before,
But his patience is runnin' thin,

There's government regulations,
They change it every day,
Why, there's things he can't do on his own damn place,
At least that's what they say,
Then there's all these big investors,
That's buyin' up the land,
They're makin' bird preserves and such,
Now isn't that just grand!

Hell, most of his neighbors sold and left,
or lost it and went belly up,
"What should I do?" he wonders,
As he takes a sip from his cup,
He's never quit before,
Why should he do it now?
Even tho prices are up,
Except of course for cows,

Why can't the cowman take a stand?
It's time to change this mess,
It's time he tells 'em just how he feels,
Instead of bein' depressed,
Stand up, by god, it's time they knew,
What they're doin' isn't right,
If they think they're gonna get this place!
It won't be without a fight . . .

© 1996 T. J. Casey
These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

Jingle Bob

Well, I knew a man named Jingle Bob,
A damn good buckaroo,
He'd rode in many places,
Some of which I knew,

With eighty feet of gut line,
He rod an "A" fork saddle too,
He could ride and rope with any man,
And run a brandin' crew,

It was way up in Wyoming,
Where the snow gets deep they say,
He hired on the JS Ranch,
To keep the wolves away,

With a saddle strong and ol' pack horse,
He left the ranch that day,
He didn't know that when he mounted up,
He wouldn't be back that way,

Jingle Bob was a hell of a hand
He could ride most anything with hair,
And always for the brand,
Jingle Bob was the last of a dyin' breed,
There'd never be no more of his kind,
Cause, he never left a seed,


He was ridin' for the line camp,
To check his traps and ware,
When he stumbled on a carcass,
Been mauled by a grizzly bear,
Well, his horses, they stampeded,
Left him standin' there alone,
That day he crossed a sacred path,
A hundred yards away from home,

Well, Jingle Bob knew horses,
And he knew they wouldn't go far,
So he stood his ground and waited,
Til the show of the evening star,
Then the hair stood up, upon his neck,
And he glanced off to his right,
Out of the brush came a grizzly bear,
Lookin' mean in the evening light,

Jingle Bob was a hell of a hand
He could ride most anything with hair,
And always for the brand,
Jingle Bob was the last of a dyin' breed,
There'd never be no more of his kind,
Cause, he never left a seed,


Grizzes eyes were red, his mouth was wide,
He was movin' in to kill,
Jingle Bob he stood his ground,
Cause he knew he'd be runnin' up hill,
Well he drew his sixgun, and he shot six times,
He gave him all he had,
But it didn't stop the grizzly bear,
It only made him mad,

The griz came down on Jingle Bob,
There's not much left to say,
Well, now you know why Jingle Bob,
Won't be back that way . . .

Jingle Bob was a hell of a hand
He could ride most anything with hair,
And always for the brand,
Jingle Bob was the last of a dyin' breed,
There'd never be no more of his kind,
Cause, he never left a seed,


© 1999,  T. J. Casey
These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

I Was Raised

I was raised in a country with cattle and horse,
cowboys and good buckaroos,
where the grass was as tall as a high hosses belly,
and water ran clear and blue,
Yes, water ran clear and blue...

I was raised in a country we all knew as heaven,
as close as a man could be,
with mountains and grasses and horses and cattle,
as far as the eye could see,
As far as the eye could see...

I was raised in a country where a man kept his word,
and everyone knew it was true,
Where the shake of a hand was the way to do business,
that was the way that we knew,

I was raised in a country where everyone neighbored,
and helped when we needed a crew,
Where we'd all get together and help out in bad times,
that was the thing to do,

I was raised in a country with moose, elk and grizzly,
and maybe a rabbit or two,
Where the winters were cold and you ate lots of gravy,
biscuits and wild meat stew,

I was raised in a country that's going thru changes,
where folks are now heartless and cruel,
and it's sad to see everything going to hell,
because money and greed are the rule.....

© T. J. Casey
These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

The Story of the Cowboy

Driftin' like the prairie wind, with no special place to go,
Where it really all began, I guess we'll never know

The story of the cowboy, made his mark in history,
Just where he really came from, is still a mystery,

Some say he came from Texas, I tend to disagree,
Others say he came from Spain, now that, could surely be,

from vaquero, came the cowboy, and then the buckaroo,
Then wadee of course, and twister, they're in the stories too,

How can the history books be so sure? none of us was there,
and how come with a life so pure, is the cowboy so dang rare?

Now the good lord put us on this earth, to do a certain deed,
and we have to show what we are worth, as we're a special breed,

He didn't say where we were from, and where we're suppose to go,
he put us here upon this earth, to do a job, you know?

we're suppose to be God's servants, the stewards of the land,
So why is there so much doggone fuss, about who's the better hand?

So whether you're from Texas, or from Montana land,
you don't have to prove a thing to show who's the better man,

All you have to do is work, and get the job done right,
cause there isn't any certain rules, tho some folks think there might,

Some folks think that thirty foot, is the length of rope to use,
while some use shy of a hundred, there ain't no special rules,

You work the way you learned it, and do the best you can,
cause the good lord's right behind you, each and every man,

He gave us all a talent, to help each other out,
Not to see who's better, but to prove without a doubt,

That all can work together, and live in harmony,
and all can love each other, that's how it's suppose to be,

So next time you've a yearnin', to put somebody down,
stop and think about it, afore you rub it in the ground,

Cause all of us is different, just the way it's suppose to be,
and it really makes no difference, at least, not to me,

Cause I don't care just where you're from, just so you do your job,
and I don't care how you do it, or if your name is Joe or Bob,

The point I'm makin' people, is true and oh so clear,
the good lord put us on this earth, and that's why we're all here,

So get down off your high horse, and show the lord above,
That it's not yourself, but folks around, and him you really love........

© T. J. Casey
These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.