Going work cattle on a warm, wet, Fall morn,
fightin' skeeters 'n mud in the midst of a storm.
Strong Community Coffee, hot 'n black as tar,
keepin alive two boys, who came strait from the bar.
My jeans are all wet 'n my hat is all soggy.
Blew a tire gettin here, cause the roads are all foggy!
The beer's all iced down 'n ready for later,
plus leftover fried fish and tail of a gator.

The cur dogs are barkin' and wantin' to bay.
This is sure shapin' up to be one helluva day.
Bulls got to fightin' and tore down the fence.
Do Louisiana cowboys have any sense?
A steer with long ears leaped over a panel.
He's headed to the back, that damn brindle marsh camel.
I was holdin' that panel. Now I've got a black eye.
Everone alaughin' as I lay lookin' up at the sky.


The white whale of a bull was hid out on an island.
Do Scots ever have to swim, gathering them shaggy ole Highlands?
The first importer of the darn things really did go to jail.
Not for nearly as long as we'd spend chasin' humps and high tails.
"Stop keepin' the heifers off those real wild marsh cows!"
If only they'd listen there'd be less evil vows.


We eat both oysters from calves and oysters with shells,
With cold beer and tabasco they go down really well.
These men make their living on boats and all play and live hard.
Rough though they are, you'll never find better pards.
Western Horseman was coming out to give us a look.
An article won't cover this mess. It'll take a good book.
No starched jeans or silk scarves will you find on these hands.
Our trappings are quite different, than those far western lands.

Creole ponies abound out here in the marsh.
Papers aren't needed, just four legs and some heart.
These are not high desert mustangs so keep some of that toe.
In the muck we don't gallop but we frequently row.
Hope your pony is broke to crossin' canals on a barge.
We try not to swim 'em with gators so large!
Will he pony behind an airboat? Cause that would be good.
If he doesn't right now, by tomorrow he should!

When we got to the pens, we had a crabs in our tails,
The tide was afallin', the wind was at gale.
We'd managed to make it with most of the herd.
A few had drowned, a few had bogged, and one now had Gerd!
No pay for today. This is all volunteer,
but I did get a new scar, from that damn brindle steer!
Poppin' whips, ridin' hard, and drinking @ 8.
Don't tell me marsh cowboyin' ain't all that great.


Got whopped in my bad eye by a chicken tree limb.
"Thank God for this day" I say with a grin.


Hope ya'll enjoy

Hey Daniel - Thats great, maybe you'll never be a Banjo Paterson (or better yet Henry Lawson, a better poet, not such a romantic but not so well know outside of Australasia) but you seriously need to keep writing.

And I liked the story !!

PS - I've just been out working with a young Q/H filly, I'll start her a little later in the season, there's no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon!