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Storm clouds are gatheriní as I saddle olí Buck,
Iíll get that fence mended with speed aní some luck

Out here on the prairie, where land meets the sky,
the lightniní can get fierce aní strike too near by

Storms come up quick aní ya better seek shelter,
rain, sleet, aní hail make ya run helter-skelter

Cattle get restless, they sometimes stampede,
aní ya need hardened rovers ridiní drag aní the lead



Today Iíll be watchiní them clouds oíre my head
Ďcause storms on the praire are the worst, itís been said

So I pack up my gear, my slicker ní such,
slouch hat, aní long coat, hope I wonít need Ďem much

Tie a scarf Ďround my neck to keep out the dust
case them dirt-devils twirl aní kick up a fuss

Its seven miles out, Iíll be workiní all day,
aní I'd better make haste or thereíll be heck to pay

The skies turniní dark, aní clouds are now black
as I ease on olí Buck, he snorts aní rears back

Guess he smells trouble out there on the range
so weíd best get the job done for the weather does change

We reach destination, I unload my stuff,
Iím stretchiní barbed wire over ground that is rough


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I work like the devil, I plum bust my tail,
aní just as I finish comes lightniní aní hail

I leap on olí Buck in my slicker aní coat,
the strikes are so close my heartís in my throat

We head for the ranch on the gallop aní run,
rain pours down my collar, it sure ainít no fun

But just as we reach the last mile of fence
thereís fire in the sky, aní smoke starts to commence

Along the horizon flames are now leapiní,
straight up my spine them chills come a creepiní

ĎCause I see at the ranch the barn is on fire,
men pass water pails aní itís my first desire

To prod olí Buck faster as we come Ďround the bend,
if we lose them prize mares itíll be Ďmost a sin

Then, my heart starts to quiet, see the horses are free,
their runniní about makes me holler with glee

I jump off my mount aní we all put it out,
then slap each oneís back, whistle aní shout

Thatís what we do out here on the range,
we help one another, aní to some that seems strange




But Cowboys Ďll survive, itís part of our creed
to buck bales, aní ride herd, aní do a good deed

Aní Iím proud to be one, I wonít hang my head,
ainít no man I envy or life Iíd choose instead.


Poetry by Tamara HillmanÖ Copyright 2005
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