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User Name Thread Name Subject Posted
GUEST,Dan Lyr Req: Flight 641 (Lawrence Hammond) (170* d) Lyr Add: LITTLE BRITCHES (Lawrence Hammond) 16 Jan 11

I went to a party up in Washington State over the holidays with some medical people, and this man was there with a beaut of an old beat-up Martin. He sang this song about a kid at the rodeo and I begged the words and chords off him. Found this thread when I went looking him up and it looks like people have been looking for the words to this song, so here they are:

(Lawrence Hammond)

I got the sulks this mornin' 'cause my Pa didn't let me know
They was gonna have the thing they call the Little Britches Rodeo,
When kids my age climb in the chutes to ride the bucking steers
And catch a case of bow-legs that lasts for 60 years.

Well Pa's friend Buck he's standin' 'round so I swallows back my tears.
He chuckles when he hears the words, "Son, wait just another year."
Then he says to Pa, "Remember back to your first time in the chutes?"
Pa hangs his head and draws a Texas map in the sand there with his boot.

Then he looks up proud and when he grins, I just can't hold a frown.
Then I think maybe I've won the match even though I've lost the round.
Pa walks off towards the chutes to see the horse that he has drawn,
And they say he's drawn the meanest bronc, the one called Short-Term Loan.

Near the fence this mangy pinto stands; his eyes are rimmed with white.
Pa stares back and he chaws a bluegrass stalk, and his jaw is clamped down tight.
Then I know that he's a conjurin' as he chaws the bluegrass down,
'Cause no sane cowboy feasts on fresh-picked herbs where horses are around.
CHORUS: Then he leans down to the outlaw, whispers in his wooly ear:
"You buckin' broncs you only work 3 minutes every year.
I aim to sign your unemployment check with the fine point of my spurs,
And I aim to make my workin' year a few seconds longer than yours!"
Eight seconds on the cyclone, the rider he must do.
Well, I've seen my Pa stay up for twelve and I've seen him dumped in two.
Now Short Term Loan's white eyeballs may mean anger, lust, or fear.
Yeah, but his nostrils say, "I'll waste the first vaquero that comes near.

"So you'd best take home your Daddy, son; my hooves don't fit this track."
Pa just grins and he grabs the beam and clumps down on his back.
Then the gate-man runs the big gate round; what's next I'm left to guess
From a hat up there in orbit between Austin and Juarez.
CHORUS: I can hear Pa's voice a-callin' as the cowboys give a cheer.
"You buckin' broncs you only work 3 minutes every year.
I aim to sign your unemployment check with the fine point of my spurs,
And I aim to make my workin' year a few seconds longer than yours."
Now in my chest some fool is marchin' round beatin' on a drum.
My shoulder finds Buck's hand has got a Vise-Grip for a thumb.
Then the bell it rings, Pa's made his time, and the pick-up man swings round,
But Short-Term veers sway and Pa's left hangin' upside-down.

His trailin' spur has snagged the strap, a freakish accident,
And Short-Term's tryin' to rub him off by runnin' along the fence.
The spur-points like a harrow-rake, they plow the horse's side,
And the furrows spring up roses that seem to blind my eyes.
CHORUS: Then the maddened pony turns his course and he pivots on his heel.
My daddy rolls across the sand like a slow-unfoldin' wheel.
Then from far away a kid's voice comes, I've known but long forgot.
In the sudden silence of the crowd it cries the words, "Git up!"
But a rodeo ain't a football game; I've heard the cowboys talk.
The stretcher is an insult; best to let the poor man walk.
Buck walks out in the arena like a feller on a stroll,
Leans down and slaps Pa on his butt, half to comfort, half to scold.
CHORUS: Oh so slow Pa gets up, and his silent lips they cuss.
Lord, he don't look up as he limps to where his hat lies in the dust.
I start for him, but Buck, he says, "Best let your Daddy be.
Son, an hour alone be better than the likes of you or me.
"But I don't reckon that your Pa'll be buyin' his own drinks for awhile."
Then I feel my face a-tryin' like hell for the first curl of a smile.
And later, there's a party; folks stop by to say nice things
About this man they say I favor, who's starin' down at his drink.
CHORUS: I can see his lips a-whisperin' as he leans down to his beer.
"You buckin' broncs you only work 3 minutes every year.
I aim to sign your unemployment check with the fine point of my spurs,
And I aim to make my workin'-year a few seconds longer than yours—
Just a few seconds longer than yours."

This really is just a cool piece of cowboy poetry. As he sang it, it fit real tight with the tune too. This thread was revelation. Had no idea who he was and that he had a musical career, although he came along a few years before I was old enough to be listening, I can't believe I was not aware of him. Will hunt up "Coyote's Dream" but sounds like it is hard to find

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