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High Chin Bob Away up high in tbe Mogollons Among the mountain tops, A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones And licked his thankful chops When who upon the scene should ride A-trippin' down tbe slope, But High Chin Bob, with sinful pride And maverick-hungry mpe. cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he, "And fame's unfading flowers, I ride my top horse here today; l'm top hand at the Lazy J- So, Kitty Cat, you're ours." The lion licked his paws so brown And dreamed sweet dreams of veal. A big wide loop came circlin' down And roped him round his meal. He yowled wild furey to the world And all the hills yowled back, The top horse gave a snort and whirled And Bob took up the slack. cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he, "We'll hit the glory trail No man has roped a lion's head And lived to drag the bugger dead 'Til I shall tell the tale." Away up high in tbe Mogollons That top horse done his best Through whippin' brush and rattlin' stones, From canyon floor to crest. Whenever Bob he turned and hoped The last remains to find, A red-eyed lion, belly-roped But healthy, loped behind. cho: "Oh, glory be to me," says he, "This glory trail is rough, I'll keep this dally round the horn Until the toot of Judgment Morn, Before I holler 'nough!'" Three suns had rode their circle home Beyond the desert rim, And turned their star herds loose to roam The ranges high and dim Yet up and down, andd 'round and 'cross Bob pounded, weak and wan But pride still glued him to his horse And glory drove him on. cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he, "He can't be drug to death. Those heros that I've read about Were only fools that stuck it out 'Til the end of mortal breath." Away up high in tbe Mogollons If you're ever there at night, You'll hear a rukus mid the stones That'll lift your hair in fright. You'll see a cow horse thunder by And a lion trail along, And a rider gant, but chin on high Sing forth his glory song: cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he, "And to my mighty noose, I took a ragin' dream in tow And tho I never laid him low, I never turned him loose! Note: Folk-processed from a poem by Charles Badger Clark, 1908 RG From He Was Singing This Song, Tinsley RG
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!