Recorded by Marty Robbins
CAPO: 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
