Posted by: Oklahoma Sun | February 21, 2010

Punchin’ Dough.

Punchin’ Dough.

Henry Herbert Knibbs. Songs of the Cowboys, 1921.


COME, all you young waddies, I’ll sing you a song,
Stand back from the wagon—stay where you belong:
I’ve heard you observin’ I’m fussy and slow,
While you’re punchin’ cattle and I’m punchin’ dough.

Now I reckon your stomach would grow to your back,
If it wa’n’t for the cook that keeps fillin’ the slack:
With the beans in the box and the pork in the tub,
I’m a wonderin’, now, who would fill you with grub?

You think you’re right handy with gun and with rope,
But I’ve noticed you’re bashful when usin’ the soap:
When you’re rollin’ your Bull for your brown cigarette,
I been rollin’ dough for the biscuits you et.

When you’re cuttin’ stock, then I’m cuttin’ steak:
When you’re wranglin’ horses, I’m wranglin’ cake:
When you’re hazin’ the dogies and battin’ your eyes,
I’m hazin’ dried apples that aim to be pies.

You brag about shootin’ up windows and lights,
But try shooting biscuits for twelve appetites:
When you crawl from your roll and the ground it is froze,
Then who biles the coffee that thaws out your nose?

In the old days the punchers took just what they got:
It was sowbelly, beans, and the old coffee-pot;
But now you come howlin’ for pie and for cake,
Then you cuss at the cook for a good bellyache.

You say that I’m old, with my feet on the skids;
Well, I’m tellin’ you now that you’re nothin’ but kids:
If you reckon your mounts are some snaky and raw,
Just try ridin’ herd on a stove that won’t draw.

When you look at my apron, you’re readin’ my brand,
Four X, which is sign for the best in the land;
On bottle or sack it sure stands for good luck,
So—line up, you waddies, and wrangle your chuck.

No use of your snortin’ and fightin’ your head;
If you like it with chile, just eat what I said:
For I aim to be boss of this end of the show,
While you’re punchin’ cattle and I’m punchin’ dough.