You caint figger out what a broncho will do
He is bound to start trouble before you get through
He might rair and fall backwards, and maybe he’ll run
and maybe he’ll buck like a son of a gun
Sometimes he may jest go a trottin around
And there’s a chance ag’in he might grunt and lay down
He might go hog wild and shore beller and bawl
And sometimes he will sulk and he wont go atall
You pull up your belt and you pull your hat tight
Fer it shore sets a feller to thinkin allright
But it isn’t no time to git skeery or weak
When you grab the old horn and the hackamore cheek
You make up your mind you will stay there and ride
If he bucks till the brand slips a foot on his hide
For the worst time in ridin’ a broncho, I’ve found
Is when your last foot is jest leavin’ the ground
