These are the original words to the song Strawberry Roan written by Curley Fletcher in 1915 and changed and revised many times by many artists throughout the years

STRAWBERRY ROAN
(Curley Fletcher - songwriter's version)

I was layin' around, just spendin' my time,
Out of a job an' ain't holdin' a dime,
When a fellow steps up, an' sez, "I suppose
That you're uh bronk fighter by the looks of your clothes."

"Yuh figures me right-I'm a good one, I claim
Do you happen tuh have any bad uns tuh tame?
He sez he's got one, uh bad un tuh buck
An' fur throwing good riders, he's had lots uh luck

He sez that this pony has never been rode,
That the boys that gets on 'im was bound tuh get throwed,
Well I gets all excited an' asks what he pays,
Tuh ride this old pony for uh couple of days.

He offers a ten spot. Sez I, "I'm yure man
Cause the bronk never lived that I couldn't fan;
No hoss ever lived, he never drew breath
That I couldn't ride till he starved plum tuh death.

"I don't like to brag, but I got this tuh say
That I ain't been piled fur many uh day."
Sez he, "Get your saddle, I'll give yuh uh chance."
So I gets in his buckboard an' drifts tuh his ranch.

I stays until morning an' right after chuck,
I steps out tuh see if that outlaw kin buck.
Down in the hoss corral, standin' alone,
Was this caballo, uh strawberry roan.

His laigs is all spavined an' he's got pigeon toes,
Little pig eyes and uh big Roman nose,
Little pin ears that touch at the tip
An' uh double square iron stamped on his hip

Yew necked an' old, with uh long lower jaw,
I kin see with one eye, he's a reg'lar outlaw
I puts on my spurs - I'm sure feelin fine -
Turns up muh hat an' picks up muh twine.

I throws that loop on im, an' well I knows then,
That before he gets rode, I'll sure earn my ten,
I gets my blinds on him, an' it sure was a fight
Next comes muh saddle - I screws it down tight

An' then I piles on im, an' raises the blind,
I'm right in his middle tuh see im unwind.
Well he bows his old neck, an' I guess he unwound,
Fur he seem tuh quit living down on the ground

He goes up toward the East, an' comes down toward the West,
Tuh stay in his middle, I'm doin' muh best,
He sure is frog walkin', he heaves uh big sigh,
He only lacks wings, fur tuh be on the fly.

He turns his old belly right up toward the sun,
He sure is uh sun-fishin' son-of-uh-gun,
He is the worst bucker I seen on the range,
He can turn on uh nickle an' give yuh some change.

While he's uh-buckin' he squeals like uh shoat,
I tell yuh, that pony has sure got muh goat.
I claim that, no foolin', that bronk could sure step,
I'm still in muh saddle, uh-buildin' uh rep

He hit on all fours, an' suns up his side,
I don't see how he keeps from sheddin' his hide.
I loses muh stirrup an' also muh hat,
I'm grabbin' the leather an' blind as a bat.

With uh phenomenal jump, he goes up on high,
An' I'm settin' on nothin', way up in the sky,
An' then I turns over, I comes back tuh earth
An' lights in tuh cussin' the day of his birth

Then I knows that the hosses I ain't able tuh ride
Is some of them livin' - they haven't all died,
But I bets all muh money they ain't no man alive,
Kin stay with that bronk when he makes that high dive.

From Songs of the Sage, by Curley W. Fletcher, 1931^^