When There’s Frost Upon the Ponies
When there’s frost upon the ponies an’ snow drift on the ground, an’ that yeller sun comes creepin’ through the […]
When there’s frost upon the ponies an’ snow drift on the ground, an’ that yeller sun comes creepin’ through the […]
In the heart of central Kansas, Near my daddy’s boyhood home, There are miles and miles of fences Where the
Nobody breaks ranch stock the old way now, leaving those youngsters wild till two or three then snub ’em down,
A barn cat’s complaint set to the pitch of curdled milk, the poem for Bill is no good. Bill, it
Son of the rodeo circuit, He clung from kick to kick Till demon Coors reduced him From trick rider to
Long, long ago in a land called Texas, unemployed soldiers from the recent War Between the States rounded up herds