Smellin Rain

Storm clouds are gatherin’
as I saddle ol’ Buck—
I’ll get that fence mended
with speed an’ some luck.

Out here on the prairie
where land meets the sky—
the lightnin’ can get fierce
an’ strike too near by.

Storms come up quick,
an’ ya better seek shelter—
rain, sleet, an’ hail
make ya run helter-skelter.

Cattle get restless—
they sometimes stampede,
an’ ya need hardened drovers
ridin’ drag an’ the lead.

Today I’ll be watchin’
them clouds o’er my head
‘cause storms on the prairie
are the worst, it’s been said.

So, I pack up my gear,
my slicker ‘n such,
slouch hat, an’ long coat—
hope I won’t need ‘em much.

Tie a scarf ‘round my neck
to keep out the dust
case them dirt-devils twirl
an’ kick up a fuss.

It’s seven miles out—
I’ll be workin’ all day,
an’ I’d better make haste
or there’ll be hell to pay.

The sky’s turnin’ dark,
an’ clouds are now black—
as I ease on ol’ Buck,
he snorts an’ rears back.

Guess he smells trouble
out here on the range,
so we’d best get the job done
‘fore the weather does change.

We reach destination—
I unload my stuff,
I’m stretchin’ barbed wire
over ground that is rough.

I work like the devil—
I plum’ bust my tail,
an’ just as I’m finished
comes lightnin’ an’ hail.

I leap on ol’ Buck
in my slicker an’ coat—
the strikes are so close,
my heart’s in my throat.

We head for the ranch
on the gallop an’ run.
Rain pours down my collar—
this sure ain’t no fun.

But just as we reach
the last mile of fence,
there’s fire in the sky,
an’ smoke starts to commence.

Along the horizon,
flames are now leapin’,
straight up my spine
them chills come a creepin’.

‘Cause I see at the ranch,
the barn is on fire.
Men pass water pails
an’ it’s my first desire,

To prod ol’ Buck faster
as we come ‘round the bend—
If we lose them prize mares,
it’ll be ‘most a sin.

Then my heart starts to quiet—
see the horses are free,
their runnin’ about
makes me holler, “Whoopee!”

I jump off my mount
an’ we all put it out,
then slap each one’s back,
whistle, ‘n shout,

‘Cause that’s what we do
out here on the range—
we help one another,
an’ to some that seems strange.

But Cowboys survive—
it’s part of our creed
to buck bales, an’ ride herd,
an’ do a good deed.

An’ I’m proud to be one,
I won’t hang my head—
ain’t no man I envy,
or life I’d choose instead.