Cat. #0694 (MFH #387) - As sung by Tom Aley, Ozark, Missouri on February 27, 1969
VERSE 1
Little Joe the wrangler
He'll wrangle never more
His days with th remuda they are o'er
T'was a year ago last April
He rode up to our herd
A little Texas stray and all alone
VERSE 2
T'was late in th even'n
He rode up to our camp
On a little Texas pony he called chaw,
With his brogan shoes an' overalls
A tougher little kid
Ya never in your life before saw
VERSE 3
His saddle was a Texas Kak
Built many years ago
An' OK spur from one heel lightly swung
An' his hot-roll in a cotton sack
So loosely tied behind
His canteen from his saddle horn was swung
VERSE 4
He said, he had t' leave his home
His Pa, had married twice
His new Ma wheep'd him every day or two
So he'd saddled up Ole Chaw one night
And lit a shuck th trail
Now, he was try'in t' paddle his own canoe
VERSE 5
He said, if we would give 'im work
He'd do th best he could
Tho' he didn't know straight up about a cow
So th boss he cut'im out
And he kindly put 'im on
Kinda liked that little kid some how
VERSE 6
Learned him t' wrangle horses
An' try t' know th'm all
Get them in at daybreak, if he could
An' t' follow th chuck wagon
An' always hitch th team
An' help th cocineros rustle wood
VERSE 7
We'd driven to th Pecos
Th weather be'in fine
Camped on th south side, in a bend
When a northern come a blow'in
We doubled up our guard
Taken all of us t' hold 'em in
VERSE 8
Little Joe, th wrangler,
Was called out with th rest
Th kid had scarcely reached th herd
When th catlle all stampeded
Like a hail storm 'long they fled
And we were all a'rid'in fer th lead
VERSE 9
'Tween th streaks of light'in
A horse we saw'n th lead
It was little Joe, th wrangler in th lead
He was rid'in on Blue Rockt
With a slicker o'er his head
Try'in t' check th cattle in their speed
VERSE 10
At last we got'en mill'in
And kinda quited down
Th extra guard back to th wagon went
But there was one a mis'in
We knowed it at a glance
Our little Texas faithful, wrangl'in Joe
VERSE 11
Next morn'in just at daybreak
We found where Rocket fell
Down in a washout, twenty feet below
And beneath his horse, smashed to a pulp
His spur had rung his knell
Was our little Texas Fathful, wrangl'in Joe