The Samurai saw a leather hat
With bills to block the sun
And said (probably in Japanese)
“That does not look so fun.”
So the cowboys took it
And thus the West was won
And I would wisely wager
That’s why the Samurai are done.
Tag Archives: Cowboys
In Case You’d Forgotten
Back in the Western USA
In 1800 somethin’
A couple cowboys realized
Their hearts, they were a thumpin’.
The cowboys had been life long friends
And though they both were male
They rode to Brokeback Mountain
And they gave up on the trail.
Yodel-oodle-yodel-adle-yodel-addle-ee!
Yodel-oodle-yodel-adle-odel-sodomy!
We used to have some cowboys
To protect our town from raids,
But now we have to check
Our cowboy guardians for AIDS!
They use to be quick to the draw
But now they have more fun
With the sheathing than the drawing
Of their aforementioned gun!
Yodel-oodle-yodel-adle-yodel-addle-ee!
Yodel-oodle-yodel-adle-odel-sodomy!
One cowboy found his saddle’s
Grown less comfortable with time. He
Found this was the case
Unless their romance they would stymie.
But the cowboys needed horses
Like they found they needed lasses
And they replaced their ponies
With one another’s (whoaaa!)
Yodel-oodle-yodel-adle-yodel-addle-ee!
Yodel-oodle-yodel-adle-odel-sodomy!
Yodel
Oodle
Yodel
Adel
Odel
Soooooooo…
Doooooooo…
Myyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!
I’m Off To The Wild West… California!
When I was a little bitty boy
So young it was okay to be strange
I wanted to be a cowboy
And ride the wide-open range.
My best friends would be a stallion,
My rifle, and my hat.
Needless to say as I grew up
My life diverged from that.
I play cards at the old saloon
When my work’s done for the week.
I drive a sleek black mustang
And I’m sometimes known to wreak.
I may sit behind a desk
Playing quick-draw with my phone
But I really just want to saddle up,
Ride off, and be alone.
A few things stand between me
And the life I’m meant to lead.
In the Chicago city limits
I can’t buy a proper steed.
I look quite like a bad boy
So the ladies are all smiles and purrs
But they never die at the end of the episode
And they object when I wear my spurs.
In my heart I am a cowboy.
I dress and talk like one
And, thanks to the permit office,
I can own my own six-gun.
It has to be locked up
Separately from the ammunition.
But tomorrow I’m moving West
To fulfill my grand ambition.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 