A good old stick!

Uncle Bruce was a good old stick,
as gentile as mornin' dew
The first time I met him he tipped his hat,'n said,
"Girlie, How'd ya do"

He came to the ranch to live with his gran
when he was only four
His Mom ran off with the preacher man,
couldn't care for him no more

He was like any Cowboy I'd ever imagined
or seen in a TV show
Could roll a cigareete with one hand,
'n cook campfire sourdough

A soft heart got the best of him
'n he lost lots of stock in the spring
Cuz brandin' his kids he wouldn't do,
it jest warn't his thing

"You ever smelt the burnin' of hair,
or heard the bawl of a calf?"
He gave me his sideways 'chicken eye',
an' turned on his heel with a laugh

His corral was full of misfits,
didn't have the heart to put down
Like the bull with the sore on his neck,
an the horse swayed down t' the groun'

Then there was the steer with
the swoll'd up festerin' knee
And he'd say "cept for the grace of God,
it could be me!"

After Granny was burried, lots of stuff died,
like the garden the plants an' the trees
And the calico curtains were soon worn to shreds
in the never ending breeze

Year after year, he vowed to find a swell gal
an' move into town
But he was married and wed shore 'nough
to the dusty thirsty groun'

His fame only grew as he rode the range
over mountain and Indian Knoll
The last of his breed and one of a kind,
the legend repeated and tole'

Go out to the strip, beyond Pipe Springs Fort,
and look for the tin roof in the sun
You'll find Uncle Bruce takin care of his place,
looking old...but feelin' mighty young!