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I once drew up a horse no man had beaten in a go, He even threw off a champion up at the St. Paul show. I sought out those who’d seen him, and was askin’ all around, They told me to cock my hammer or he’d throw me to the ground.
I guess I was pretty anxious and maybe a little scared, But aimed to give it all I had when the two of us were paired. The entry parade was over and the speeches all were done, The bareback horses all had bucked and the calves were being run.
The broncs were moved on down the line and into every box, They stomped and kicked the sliders at the sound of snapping locks. My horse’s name was Whistle Stop, he was standin’ in chute five, The chute boss he called out my name and I just came alive.
I set my saddle on him and pulled the cinch up tight, I was feelin’ pretty flush and ready for the fight. When the rope was tied on the gate I got myself in place,
I called outside, tucked my chin and launched out
into space.
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He did his best to throw me out and give me to the winds. He turned himself inside out and popped me from the seat, I got myself back into place, I’d no plans for being beat.
I started feelin’ pretty smug and thought I had him rode, But he had one more trick left for his burden to unload. He bucked out hard to the right then left with all he had, Then I was sittin’ in the air and my crash was pretty bad.
That was many years ago and I heard that horse he quit, Didn’t want to buck no more and was broken to the bit. But I recall how great he was the night that me and him,
Fought it out in front of all and took it to the rim.
Dave P. Fisher
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