These verses appeared in the Stock Growers' Journal on May 14, 1892. They were signed with the initials D. J. W.
Tonight as I rode 'round my cattle
I thought of my once cozy home,
So full of the little one's prattle,
And wondered how I came to roam.
To leave the dear home of my, childhood
Cost my poor heart a great deal of pain,
But now my mind's fixed on one happy thought,
I'll soon see my dear ones again.
No more will I be a wild cowboy
But I'll live like a man ought to do,
And sit by the stove when the chilly winds blow
And not freeze myself through and through.
No, more will I ride on the night guard
When loud Heaven's thunders do roar.
No. I'll pound my ear down on a goose hair
And think me of third guard no more.
No more will the cook's call to "grub pile"
Cause me from my hard bed to creep.
No. I'll wait till the gong sounds at seven
To rouse from my innocent sleep.
No more festive calves will I wrestle
So close by the hot branding fire.
I'll have no hide knocked off my knuckles,
For that always did rouse my ire.
When the rain's coming down, my slicker I'll have
And not leave it lying in camp.
For in herding without one when Fall rains are here
A cowboy most always feels damp.
Now look at that long-horned son-of-a-gun,
Up that draw, now he's going to sneak.
I wish I could run him plumb off that cut-bank
And break his blamed neck in the creek.
Get back in the bunch, blame your trifling hide,
Or with you it will go mighty hard.
What's that, Jim? Ten minutes of twelve did you say?
Well, go in and call up the third guard.