He al ways
sings raggy music
to the cattle as he swings
Back and forward in the saddle
on a horse
That is syncopated, gated,
and is such a funny meter
To the roar of his repeater,
how they run
When they hear the fella's gun
Because the western folk s all know
He's a high pollutin' shootin' scootin'
son of a gun from Arizona ragtime cowboy Joe
Joe sings corny licks to the cattle
He swings back and
forth in the saddle
He's on a horse with a jazzy gait
It gets ya in a nervous state
how they run
When they hear the fella's gone
because the folks out west all know
He's a rootin',
tootin', highfalutin'
Son of the West from Arizona,
Ragtime Cowboy Joe
Out in California where
the wolf pack hunts
And the only friend to guide you
is Madman Muntz
The one least noted for his brilliance
Is Ragtime Cowboy Joe
Didn't get his name
from singin' cow -cow blues
Doesn't know enough
to pay his union dues
Give him a guitar and he will blow his fuse
Brother, what a crow,
he never sings
Jumpin' music to the
cattle never swings
Keeps a -sittin' in the saddle
plunkin' strings
All four. The tunes and plays are dated.
Beaver, Lulu, Belle, we know they never sell.
He's such a cart.
About as hefty as little Abner.
I mean, he's got to go.
He's high, he shoots, wears boots.
Rank time cowboy Joey.
Rank time cowboy Joey.
you