Recorded by Marty RobbinsCAPO: 3RD FRET/KEY: F/PLAY: D
Little Joe, The Wrangler, will wrangle nevermore
His days with the roundup, they are o’er
Was a year ago last April, when he rode into our camp
Just a little Texas stray and nothin’ more.
Was late in the ev’nin’, when he rode into our camp
On a little Texas pony, he called Chaw
With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher lookin’ kid
You never in your life before, had saw.
His saddle was a Texas ‘kack’ built many years ago
An O.K. spur on one foot, lightly swung
With his pack rolled in a cotton sack, so loosely tied behind
And a canteen from his saddle horn, was slung.
He said he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice
His new ma whipped him every day or two
So he saddled up old Chaw one night and “lit a shuck” this way
He said he’d try to paddle his own can- oe.
He’d said if we would give him work, he’d do the best he could
Tho’ he didn’t know straight up, about a cow
So the Boss, he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on
He sorta liked this little kid, some- how.
He learned to wrangle horses and learned to know them all
And get them in at daybreak, if he could
And to trail the old chuck wagon and always hitch the team
And help the “cookie” ev’nin’s – rustle wood.
We had hardly reached the Pecos, the weather it was fine
We were camped down on the south side, in a draw
When a ‘Norther’ commenced blowin’ and we doubled up our guard
It took ev’ryone of us, to hold them in.
Little Joe, The Wrangler, was called out with the rest
Scarcely had the little fellow reached the herd
When the cattle, they stampeded, like a hail storm on, they fled
And ev’ryone was ridin’ for the lead.
A- mid the streaks of lightnin’, there was one horse up ahead
He was tryin’ to catch the leader in their speed
It was Little Joe, The Wrangler, with a slicker o’er his head
He was ridin’ old Blue Rocket in the lead.
At last, we got them millin’ and kinda quieted down
And the extra guards, back to the wagon, went
But there was one a-missin’, you could see it, at a glance
Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe.
Next mornin’, just at daybreak, we found where Rocket fell
Down in a washout, twenty feet be- low
Be- neath his horse, his life was gone, his spur had rung its knell
Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe.
SOURCE: Marty Robbins-More Gunfighter Ballads And Trail Songs/Columbia
CS-8272
