Ringo

He had a horse and a saddle, a pick-up truck and more,

And when it came to wranglin’ he sorta’ knew the score.

Wore a big ol’ Stetson hat with the finest leather boots,

His Levis fit him better than your Brooks Brothers suits.

He looked like he grew up out on the open range,

Turned out his background was really kinda’ strange.

He grew up in New Jersey, but he never did fit in,

‘cuz spittin’ on the sidewalk is really quite a sin.

He mighta hailed from Trenton or the Jersey shore,

But he probably read too much of  Louie L’Amour.

Were Gunsmoke and Paladin his favorite TV shows?

Did he bug his parents to get some cowboy clothes?

Becuz the Garden State is long way from the plain.

He headed West to ride with the likes of Larry Kane.

He learned to chew tobacco and roll a cigarette,

He could rope and tie a calf and make a poker bet.

When he got bucked off, he always got back on,

‘cept that time he got up and his horse was gone.

Some found him sorta’ daffy, some say he talked a lot,

But out here on the range he found his perfect spot.

His leather belt was lettered like a doggie with a brand

And some held the notion he was a damn good hand.

I can see him in the Bear Paws singing cattle calls,

Two thousand miles away from New Jersey’s ivy walls.

A cowboy ain’t someone who fits inside a box,

He just punches cattle instead of punchin’ clocks.

LDT March 18, ‘23

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