Old Timers Poem

OLD TIMER’S POEM -LYRICS BY CHARLES M. RUSSEL / MUSIC BY CARY MORIN (BMI)

HERE’S TO ALL OLD TIMERS, BOB
THEY WEREN’T ALL SQUARE IT’S TRUE
SOME CASHED IN WITH THERE BOOTS ON
GOOD OLD FRIENDS I KNEW

HERE’S TO THE FIRST ONES HERE, BOB
MEN WHO BROKE THE TRAIL
FOR THE TENDERFOOT AND BOOSTER
WHO CAME TO THE COUNTRY BY RAIL

HERE’S TO MAN WITH THE GOLD PAN
WHOSE HEART WASN’T HARD TO FIND
IT WAS AS BIG AS THE COUNTRY HE LIVED IN
AND GOOD AS THE METAL HE MINED

HERE’S TO THE RUSTLER THAT PACKED A NOTCHED GUN
AND DIDN’T CALL KILLINS A SIN
IF YOU’D COUNT THE COWS AND CALVES IN HIS HEARD
YOU’D SWEAR ALL HIS BULLS HAD TWINS

HERE’S TO THE SINNER WITH A JERK LINE
WHO COULD MAKE A BLACK SNAKE TALK
AND COULD STRING HIS TEAM UP A MOUNTAIN ROAD
THAT WOULD BOTHER A HUMAN TO WALK

HERE’S TO THE CROOKED GAMBLER
WHO DELT FROM A BOX THAT WAS BRACE
WOULD PULL FROM THE BOTTOM IN STUD HOSS
AN’ DOUBLE CROSS FRIENDS IN A RACE

HERE’S TO THE DRIVER THAT SAT ON THE COACH
WITH SIX REINS AND SILK IN HIS GRIP
WHO’D BET HE COULD THROW ALL THE RIBBONS AWAY
AN’ HEARD HIS BRONK TEAM WITH HIS WHIP
HERE’S TO THE HOLDUP AN’ HOSS THIEF
THAT LOVED STAGE ROADS AN’ HOSSES TOO WELL
WHO ASKED THE STRANGERS TO HURRY
OR HE’D BE LATE TO BREAKFAST IN HELL

HERE’S TO THE WHAKER THAT SWUNG A LONG LASH
AN’ HIS BULLS BAWLED WITH FEAR WHEN HE SPOKE
HE’D SWEAR ON A HILL HE WOULDN’T DROP TRAIL
IF EVERY BULL STARVED IN THE YOKE

SO HERE’S TO MY OLD TIME FRIENDS, BOB
I DRINK TO THEM ONE AND ALL
I’VE KNOWN THE ROUGHEST OF THEM, BOB
BUT NONE THAT I KNEW WERE SMALL

HERE’S TO HELL WITH THE BOOSTER
THE LAND IS NO LONGER FREE
THE WORST OLD TIMER I EVER KNEW
LOOKS DAM GOOD TO ME