The Blog of Dabido (the Baka one). Everything in this blog is copyrighted. Copyright 2004, 2005, 2006 by D. Stevenson.

15 February, 2006

At Last, The Country and Western Song.

Years ago I wrote a generic Country and Western song, and it was a big hit on the bullettin board I used to hang out on. [Bulletin boards people! They were popular before blogs, websites and instant messaging! Oh gees, don't tell me I'm getting old!] Anyway, I might have to dig that ol' song up sometime. In the meantime I'll write this new one. :-) The Perfect C & W Song should include these things - Mama, trains, trucks, prison and gettin' drunk. Here we go. Let's call it another Dabido Challenge. :-)
The Perfect C & W Song. I'm gonna sing a song, About a cowboy true, Who rejected fashion Coloured his long John's blue. He used to own a hat, But he gave it to his Mama, Who lived in a tree Down in ol' Alabama. His head would get wet, If it started to rain, And he used to have a hobby Of robbin' trains. One day it rained, Even too wet for ducks, So he went to bed, Lying under a truck. But trucks weren't invented It was 1864, So he was sleepin' under somethin', He was starting to snore. His friends all saw him, They thought he was dead, Cause he was under a horse, When something landed on his head. Cause he had spent his time, Gettin' really drunk, Now he woke up, Smellin' like a skunk. The sherriff dragged him off, And the Judge wouldn't listen, Gave him three days, And threw him into prison. After three days, Sherriff said he need a bath, So he kicked him out the prison, And he landed on his arth. (Thorry, I hath a lithp!) He got real angry, Challenged the Sherriff to a duel, He'd meet him out the front, Where the cowboys play pool. They'd meet at a time, They call high Noon, Between the pool hall, And the only Saloon. The Sherrif said, 'I gotta warn you son. I'm gonna be armed, And you don't own any guns. He traded his long Johns, For a pair of colt forty fives, I'll shoot that darn Sherrif And be the only man alive. So standing in the street, In nothing but a belt, He waited for the Sherrif, You can guess how he felt. The ladies walked past, They giggled at his thing, He felt very self conscious He'd lost his fighters zing. The cowboys did laugh, And others did scoff, Then the Sherriff turned up, And shot his p**** off. The moral of the story, Is you shouldn't get drunk, And sleep under horses, In droppings smelling like a skunk. Challenging the Sherriff, To see who's guns to sling, When the Sherriffs a good shot, And you didn't gird you ding.