We settled round the fire, and things had got quiet
We’d picked over the topics at hand
You know horses, and water, and just how much cattle
Really could live on this land
And, it was relaxin’ … the fire … the quiet
Smoke risin’, nothing stirrin’ the flame
When somebody asked (like sparks in dry tinder)
“What instrument you think’s best on the range?”
Oh, howdy, it get’s rowdy, when “What’a ya’ think?” is the question
Everyone’s got a point to be proved
Defending their ground, stepping out from the crowd
Strong opinion can often trump the truth
In the ring goes Six Bartell, talking ‘bout a vaquero
Played “Las Mananitas” on a beatup, gut-string
Six swore that the night hawks dosey-doed in the heavens
To the notes that the Spaniard did sing
Robbie Martin throws in a feint, “Why, fiddle’s the ticket!”
And an uppercut, “It’s just the right size.”
Then charges, “Guit box’s too noisey! A bounce off the riggin’d
Send the cattle stampeding all night!”
“Harmonica!”, wheezed Gugus, from out his corner
“Melodious notes riding creosote breezes
Flitting through the cactus towers and the flowers
Why, that Irishman’s poetic when he pleases!
Leanin’ on the ropes, Jay Lawson says, “Bass fiddle!”
A pause, then hootin’ fills the night
Cowboys holdin’ their sides, a cryin’ with laughter
Considering a horse with a bass strapped on it’s side
Them boys littered the canvas, with accordions and mandolins
Out the ring went flutes, whistles, and a sax
Then, coming through the ropes, Cookie bulls to the center
Spits out his chew and says, “Pards, here’s the facts!”
There’s an instrument that’s tail to nut above the rest
It’s handy, like an old pocket knife
It’s the perfect end of an evolution’ry trend
And if you know how to use it, could save your life
Now, the strings are long, strong, supple, an’ dandy
For bindin’ up your broken knife handle
And that just takes one! There’s four of em’ left
To reconnect pieces of your old saddle
Them that know have respect, seein’ it strung on the riggin’
Neck’s long enough to hold off a big cat
And flailin’ that neck’s way more powerful than frailin'
When your fighting off a wildcat attack
You remember Soup Cruz he’s fording that river
His pony faltered, we thought, “Drowned for sure”
But, he grabbed it off his saddle and started in to paddle
And by God, he made it to shore
The gears and screws are right handy, too
For patchin’ a windmill or a pump
Why the ring’s round an’ tempered an’ hung from a rope
Gives a tone that brings a crew in to chuck
Now, don’t be foolish, I don’t claim it sounds good
Been tone deaf most all my life
But, I use it to stir stew, it adds a piquant flavor
And you’ve et some? You’s praisin’ it just tonight
And, my opinion’s got nothin’ to do with the music
Specially not the way you cowboys play
But just thinkin’ practical, you know that the banjo’s
The best hardware source on the range