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The Sierry Petes

This song is by Don Edwards and appears on the album Last of the Troubadours: Saddle Songs II (2004).

Away up high in the Sierry Petes
Where the yeller pines grows tall
Sandy Bob and Buster Jig
They had a rodeer camp last fall

Now they're taken their hosses and runnin' irons
And maybe a dog or two
And they 'lowed they'd brand all the long-yered calves
That come within their view

Well many a dogie that flapped long ears
And didn't bush up by day
Got his long ears whittled and his old hide scorched
In a most artistic way

Oh one fine day ole Sandy Bob
He throwed his seago down
"I'm tired of the smell of this burnin' hair
And I 'lows I'm a-goin' to town"

So they saddles up and they stuck 'em a lope
Fer it warnt no sight of a ride
And them in the days when a good cow punch
Could ile up his inside

They started out in the Kentucky Bar
The head of Whiskey Row
And they winds up down by the Depot House
Some forty drinks below

Well they sets her up and they turns her around
And goes her the other way
I'll tell you the Gawd-forsaken truth
Them boys got stewed that day

Then they mounts up and they heads to camp
A-packin' a pretty good load
When who should they see but the Devil himself
Come a-prancin' down the road

Says he, "You ornery cowboy skunks
You'd better hunt your holes
'Cause I've come up from Hell's Rim Rock
To gather in your souls"

Now Sandy Bob he says, "Devil be damned
We boys is a-kinda tight
But you ain't gathered no cowboy souls
Though without one hell of a fight"

So Sandy Bob punched a hole in his rope
And he swang her straight and true
He lapped it on to the Devil's horns
And he taken his dallies too

Now Buster jig was a riata man
With his gut-line coiled up neat
But he shook her out and he built him a loop
And they roped the Devil's hind feet

Now they stretched him out and they tailed him down
While the irons was a-gettin' hot
They cropped and swaller-forked his ears
And they branded him up a lot

Now they pruned him up with a de-hornin' sheers
And knotted his tail for a joke
Then they rode off and they left him there
Necked to a Black-Jack oak

So if you're ever up in the Sierry Petes
And hear you a Hell of a wail
It's just the Devil a-bellerin'
About them knots in his tail


Written by:

Gail Gardner

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