This is a long one… sorry about that. Cowboy up and read it all if you wish. Or pass. Pays the same.

Llano= Pronounced “ Yawn-oh” translates either “Plains” or “Flat(s)” depending on context. It is also the name of both a river in Texas and an area around this river.

Goodnight= Colonel Charles Goodnight who owned part of Plao Duro canyon and was a very close associate of Mrs. Cornelia Adair of the JA ranch, and foreman’d the JA for a lot of years. Goodnight drove cattle up the Chisholm trail to Dodge City Kansas. The trail named for Jesse Chisholm, who never drove a cow up the trail was lined with trading posts owned by himself. The JA is still in the hands of heirs of John and Cornelia Adair. Colonel Charles Goodnight died in 1929 at the age of 91. He married a 27 year old in 1927. They had no children.

A New Era At Johnny’s

I run into Johnny down at Owens weldin’ shop
He said, “Comeon out tonight, we’re gonna meet for shore
‘cause there’s a situation that has come to bear
On the things we been’a doin’ on my hardwood floor.”
Welpt, I thunk on it all that day, just what we could’a done
That’d make ol’ Johnny toss us out, his feed store on our ear
What we done to offend his wife, or that daughter that’s he’s got
An’ where we gonna go on Wednesday’s, like we done for many year

I wuz off my feed at supper, I wuz lost jus’t like a pup,
I called up to Rawhide, an’ I called up Hooker Ben
I tol’ ‘ what ol’ Johnny’d said to me, an’ jus’ what I thunk
I’m not quite cowboy’d up, but I’m tryin’ hard’s’a can
Rawhide tells me that the call, come noon time yesterday
An’ Elmer Dunn’d called him, with the story ‘bout the same
So, we got ourselves together, an’ with apprehension great
We headed for the feed store that bore Ol’ Johnny’s name

Welpt, there wuz coffee,there wuz water, an’ sodys on the bar
There wuz Johnny’s city daughter, waitin’ on us all
We wuz scaret as long tailed kittens, in a room that’s full of rockers
But we took a drink an’ milled ‘round , until we heard the call.
So, we steped up by the stove, an’ we all sat on a chair
Not one o’ us reached for the spot, that’s there upon the keg
An’ Johnny he stood up, an’ he said, “I’d like’ya’ll ta meet
The vaquero bounced my daddy, on his lef’ hind leg.

An’ old cowboy with a cane, came up then to the keg,
An’ he sat down, an’ we wuz howdied an’ we ever’one wuz shook
With the han’ made out of leather, an’ we knowed it had held the reins
Of more’n one cowpony, it’s the han’ that wrote the book.
His name wuz give as Marty, he rode for the JA brand.
Down in the hard panhandle, of the lan’ of Texas bare
“An’ my daddy knowed the Colonel, an’ I knew him as a kid.
Twenty nine, as I ‘member, that the Colonel sol’ his ware,

The Colonel warn’t a pious man, no bible thumper ‘tall
But in the Colonel’s bunkhouse, there never were a bed
For a feller who’d steal another’s found, nor go again’ his word
An’ not be counted on to do jus’ what he said.
An’ them wuz the Colonel’s morals, jus’ be straight an’ true
Give a man a herd of cattle, that wuz counted an’ all there
Be jus’ as tough as pleases you, but never mean ‘n’ small
An’ when the pay’ns done, the money shore wuz square.

Ya wuz allowed to cuss, no ladies bein’ close,
An’ no one cared a whit, if ya chose to take a smoke
Ya could spend some time with floozies, it’s yer money that ya spend
An’ the Colonel by his ownself, would enjoy a dirty joke.
An’ if ya took to like the likker, that wuz all upon yer wagon
If it don’t cross up on yer job, well, just have yerself a shot
A little bit of scamper juice, the brown type seems the best
Try to keep it handy, but don’ take on a awful lot.

It wuz back in eighty one, so my daddy tells to me
That they wuz headed up the trail, from where the Llano flowed
To the rail head up in Kansas, with ten thousand head of steers
To get ‘em on the train, an’ be paid upon the load.
They wuz a button named of Henry, an’ another called ‘im Rog
They wuz Club Foot Jim, an’ Onery, there wuz Marty, Tim an’ Red
An’ the han’ at the remuda, they called ‘im Wrangler Bob
An’ the cosinero wuz a boozer, by the handle Whisky Fred.

Welpt, it wuz knowed by all the drovers, that when Whiskey cooked ‘er up
She wuz served up fit to eat, an’ wuz larapin it’s said,
An’ the beans from out his kittle, wuz as good as any chef’d
Serve in the town of New York, if ‘twuz cooked up by Whiskey Fred.
An’ the coffee it wuz nectar, for the gods of them fellers, Greeks
An’ the flapjacks’ud cause a riot, if’n the numbers run to small
An’ he made his ownest syrup, fer the mornin’ feedbag shift
An’ we never wasted nuttin, we jus’ lapped up beans, an’ all.

Welpt, one day a rovin’ preacher, happened into camp.
We wuz fresh off ‘n the llano, an’ a headin’ for the red.
An’ he read us a bunch of Proverbs, an’ some from a doctor Luke
An’ the one he seemed to reach, wuz Cosinero Whiskey Fred.
An’ that day he took the cure, an’ the rye bottle hit the grass
An’ ol’ Whiskey Fred, he grabbed a bible, an’ commenced right into read
An’ he wuz sayin’ squarin’ talk come the dawn, ‘till come the dark
An’ he wuz all’as tellin’ us, howcome the Savior had to bleed.

To make room fer us in heaven, else the pastures’d be all full
Accordin’ then to Whiskey Fred, an’ I guess he’d be the one to know
He read from startin’ out to finish, in the Good Book ever’ day
An’ at firs’ he wuz a reain’, like a cowboy, kinda slow.
But he got the hang o’ words, that wuz printed on a page
An’ his food, it suffered not a whit, we ain’t cared a awful lot
If he wants to spend his leisure time, with a book an’ not a jug
So long as the beans wuz good, an’ the coffee poured out hot.

But, it began to take a toll, when he tol’ us not to cuss,
There warn’t a woman anywhere, could hear the words we said
But, it seems that the Big Boss, on that that spread up in the sky
Didn’t like the sound o’ cussin’, ‘cordin’ now to Whiskey Fred.
An’ he ask’d us to make a change, to the name we called ‘im by
‘Cause the Boss don’t like no whiskey, on his servants breath,
An’ the rest is most be honest, an’ do what ya know ya should
Then ya got no cause to fear, if yer called out in yer death.

Oh, we got to stop the wimmen, that we meet in bars an’ such
In the towns along the Chissolm, who sell themselves to hands
Then jus, be an honest cowboy, an’ please don’t cheat at cards
An’ give a honest days work , alwus to yer bosses brands.
An’ ya might give up the ‘backy, ‘cordin’ now to Preacher Fred,
‘Cause it’s a tool of the devil, for it’s a sure ‘nuff way to die
An’ ya got to prize the body, that the Good Lord gave to you
If ya want to rope a happy calf, on that range up in the sky.

Welpt, my daddy an’ ol’ Club Foot, wuz ridin’ mos’ the night
An’ they wuz guardin’ o’ the cattle, that wore the Goodnight mark
When Club Foot, he rolled a pill, an’ he lit it up an’ dragged
An’ he let the smoke roll from his mouth, an’ the end it showed a spark
He said, ‘O’d Fred’s a cosinero, of that they’d be no doubt
But of his pious ways, I’m spent some time and thunk,
That for all his Bible thumpin’, an’ tryin’ to get us square,
I think that in the long run, I liked him better drunk.

I think that in the long run, I liked him better drunk

Terry, I think I taught with a guy like that. Never was the same since he took the cure.


Les