A Cowboy Soliloquy

A Cowboy Soliloquy


I is or I ain’t that is the perdicament,
If’n it is fancier in my head to feel
The rocks and punches of bad luck
Or to fight a buncha’ troubles
And give them a whoopin’. To kick the bucket
And stop sleepin’. And by sleepin’ I means’
To stop the pains in my heart and all them other feelins’
It’s a hunger that burns my gut. To buy the farm,
To sleep, to take a nap, maybe dream a little, yep that’s the problem
What would I dream of when I’m six feet under
It sure do make me think. That’s the kinda stuff
That makes makes life so long and difficult
What idiot would put up with the smacks and abuse of time,
The bully’s bullying and the bigheaded man’s smugness,
The aches of unwanted love, the laws holdup
The disrespect of rank, and the cold-shoulder
that the credit of the honest is stolen by the unfair,
It makes me want to end it all with a good hunting knife.
Who would bear the burdens that make you sweat and grunt from hard labor,
But the fear of what is there in the hereafter,
The unfound places that nobody’s ever come back from,
It’s right a tough mystery, that makes us deal with problems we have
Than look for unknown troubles. Thinkin’ does make us yeller belied,
The once clear view of life is all fogged up by over thinkin’,
The big plans of man are blown away with gale force winds,
And lose all of their forward momentum.