CAPO: 3RD FRET/KEY: F
/PLAY: 
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Little Joe, The Wrangler, will wrangle nevermore 
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His days with the roundup, they are o'er 
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Was a year ago last April, when he rode into our camp 
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Just a little Texas stray and nothin' more. 
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Was late in the ev'nin', when he rode into our camp 
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On a little Texas pony, he called Chaw 
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With his brogan shoes and overalls, a tougher lookin' kid 
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You never in your life before, had saw. 
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His saddle was a Texas 'kack' built many years ago 
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An O.K. spur on one foot, lightly swung 
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With his pack rolled in a cotton sack, so loosely tied behind 
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And a canteen from his saddle horn, was slung. 
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He said he had to leave his home, his pa had married twice 
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His new ma whipped him every day or two 
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So he saddled up old Chaw one night and "lit a shuck" this way 
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He said he'd try to paddle his own can-oe. 
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He'd said if we would give him work, he'd do the best he could 
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Tho' he didn't know straight up, about a cow 
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So the Boss, he cut him out a mount and kindly put him on 
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He sorta liked this little kid, some-how. 
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He learned to wrangle horses and learned to know them all 
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And get them in at daybreak, if he could 
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And to trail the old chuck wagon and always hitch the team 
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And help the "cookie" ev'nin's - rustle wood. 
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We had hardly reached the Pecos, the weather it was fine 
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We were camped down on the south side, in a draw 
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When a 'Norther' commenced blowin' and we doubled up our guard 
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It took ev'ryone of us, to hold them in. 
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Little Joe, The Wrangler, was called out with the rest 
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Scarcely had the little fellow reached the herd 
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When the cattle, they stampeded, like a hail storm on, they fled 
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And ev'ryone was ridin' for the lead. 
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A-mid the streaks of lightnin', there was one horse up ahead 
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He was tryin' to catch the leader in their speed 
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It was Little Joe, The Wrangler, with a slicker o'er his head 
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He was ridin' old Blue Rocket in the lead. 
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At last, we got them millin' and kinda quieted down 
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And the extra guards, back to the wagon, went 
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But there was one a-missin', you could see it, at a glance 
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Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe. 
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Next mornin', just at daybreak, we found where Rocket fell 
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Down in a washout, twenty feet be-low 
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Be-neath his horse, his life was gone, his spur had rung its knell 
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Was our little Texas stray, poor wrangler Joe.