The trail boss is my ramrod;
he handles this outfit.
He makes me ride the high country.
He sends me down through the bottoms;
he steadies the herd.
He strikes the right trail every time,
just like them boys said he would.
And, lo and behold, even though I’ve been
in some tight spots,
Dodge, and Laredo, ‘n such,
I pulled through,
for the Boss was with me,
that .44 and that bullwhip,
they stood by me.
And even after, when he took me
to the Long Branch to grub up
—and them rowdies come in—
With them a’bustin’ kerosene lamps
on my head, and red-eye too—
Why, he stuck with me straight through.
And I knew right then, that this was the outfit
for me, and I ain’t looking to change, no how.
—Yvette Viets Flaten, Eau Claire, WI