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Oh, the last steer has been branded And the last beef has been shipped, And I'm free to roam the prairies That the round-up crew has stripped; I'm free to think of Susie - Fairer than the stars above - She's the waitress at the station And she is my turtle dove. Biscuit-shootin' Susie. - She's got us roped and tied; Sober men or woozy Look on her with pride. Susie's strong and able, And not a one gits rash When she waits on the table And superintends the hash. Oh, I sometimes think I'm locoed An' jes fit fer herdin' sheep. 'Cause I only think of Susie When I'm wakin' or I'm sleep, I'm wearin' Cupid's hobbles, An' I'm tied to Love's stake-pin, And when my heart was branded The Irons sunk deep in. Chorus :- I take my saddle, Sundays, - The one with inlaid flaps,- And don my new sombrero And my white Angorn chaps Then I take a brone for Susie And she leaves her pots and pans And we figure out our future And talk o'er our homestead plans. - Anonymous |
