A little OKIE poetry ..;-))
Things can be strange out on the range
But cowboys lose no sleep
When stories bold are often told
About men who tend the sheep.
Otis and Oscar were sheepherders;
in the mountains all the time.
The city elite and those discrete
thought this was mighty fine.
A mangy lot they were, for sure,
(they'd not bathed in quite a spell).
I will be brief...it's my belief,
those boys emitted a smell.
They hit the town on a runnin' drunk,
as sheepherders often will,
And drank on sight the old snake-bite
to the tune of the barkeep's till.
They hit the highbrow spots in town,
with money in their jeans.
And then, by gum, they wanted some
fancy "city" beans.
They staked an elegant restaurant out
-- ignoring the stares of ice
from those whose noses smelled no roses --
their manners not so nice.
Then halfway through the steak and beans
a lady to the side
Grabbed her throat, gasped and choked;
dropped, like she had died.
Those elite town clowns stood around
like lumps of unrendered lard.
Finally, Otis says to Oscar,
"We better do'er, pard."
They hustled over to where she lay.
Oscar dropped down on all fours.
With no time to waste, his hands in haste
ripped off her frilly drawers.
Then Otis and Oscar puckered up
and kissed the old gal on the rear.
She coughed and spit; her chokin' quit;
her breathing now was clear.
"Yea! We saved her hide," old Oscar cried.
"I'm sure glad it got to 'er.
It's my concern, why can't folks learn
this simple Hind-kiss Mc'nuver?" |
