THE CASTRATION OF THE STRAWBERRY ROAN
Original Title: The Emasculation of the Strawberry Roan

Text A (Baxter Black version)

I was layin' round town in a house of ill fame,
Laid up with a rough, tough hustlin' dame,
When a hop-headed pimp with his nose full of coke
Beat me outta that woman and left me stone broke.

When up steps a feller and he says, "Say, my lad,
You any damn good ridin' horses that's bad?"
I says, "You damn right! That's one thing I can do,
I'm a second-rate pimp, but a good buckaroo.

"Bring on your bad horses `cause I never saw one
That had me a guessin' or bothered me none."
He said, "Guess again, there's one horse that I own,
You might have heard of him, the Strawberry Roan."

I says, "I guess we've all heard of that ball bearin' stud,
He's got epizootic, the glanders, and crud,
He's the worst fuckin' outlaw that ever been foaled,
He hadn't been rode, and he's twenty years old."

CHORUS:
Oh! the Strawberry Roan, how many colts has he thrown?
He's got gonorrhea, the cankers, and syph,
He's strictured with clap but his cock is still stiff,
Oh! that renegade Strawberry Roan.

The upshot of it was that I found myself hired
To snap out some colts that that breed stud had sired;
They was knot-headed cayuses just like their dad,
Most of `em roan, and all of `em bad.

From mornin' till night how those bastards did fight,
Till my ass drug my tracks out way before night,
With my balls in my boots and my mouth full of shit,
I's plum tuckered out and all ready to quit.

When up steps the boss and he says, "That's enough,
Them strawberry roan colts is just too damn tough;
I'm plum sick and tired seem' you take them falls,
Rope that man-killin' stud and we'll carve out his balls."
CHORUS:
Oh! the Strawberry Roan, we went out to unbend his bone;
I built a big loop and went in the corral,
Roped his front feet, and he farted and fell,
And we flattened ol' Strawberry Roan.

The boss held his head, and I hog tied his legs,
Got out my jackknife and went for his eggs;
When I carved on his bag, he let out a squall,
And squealed like a pig when I whittled one ball.

But all I could locate was one of his nuts,
The other was hidden somewhere in his guts;
So I rolled up my sleeves and all over blood
I fished for the seed in the guts of that stud.

I thought I had found it, I felt something pass,
But it was only a turd on the way to his ass;
Just then I heard one of them blood-curdlin' squalls,
And I looked and the roan had the boss by the balls.

I tromped on his head, but it wasn't no use,
He was just like a bull dog, he wouldn't turn loose;
So I untied his legs, and he got to his feet,
But the boss's voice changed, and I knew we was beat.

CHORUS:
Oh! the Strawberry Roan, I advise you to leave him alone,
He's a knot-headed cayuse with only one ball,
And the boss he's a eunuch with no balls at all,
Lay off of the Strawberry Roan.


Text B (contributed by Dallas "Nevada Slim" Turner)

No job and no money, I'm shit out of luck,
And I'm stranded in Elko, a drunkard to fuck.
Down at the Commercial I runs into Mitch,
And he sez to me, "Fletch, you old sunuvabitch.

"Well, what ya been doin'? Pard, how have ya been?
It's shore good to see you in these parts again.
Lay off uv that redeye, get rid of that whore,
And I'll take you on at the old Forty-Four."

So I sez, "Mitch, you bastard, ya just made a deal,
I'm busted, I'm hungry, could do with a meal."
We jumps in the buckboard, and we're headed south,
The bull shit is flowin' from Frank Mitchell's mouth.

He sez, "Fletch, I'll tell you, in case ya ain't heard,
I bought a damned outlaw, a frog walkin' turd.
I call him Strawberry, hell, Fletch, he's a roan,
And you'll wish to Christ you had left him alone."

We got to the ranch, and I takes out my gear,
I heads for the bunkhouse, I'm nursin' a beer.
I'm still kind o' wobbly, I still got the shakes;
I shit like a wild cat, my damned belly aches.

I slips off my Levis, my Stetson I doff,
I flops on a bunk and starts sleepin' it off.
I gotta be ready, tomorrow's the day,
I'll ride that Strawberry who's feedin' on hay.

I rolls out at sun up, I've still got the shits,
I fills up on coffee to sharpen my wits.
And then we all saunters down to the corral,
And there stands Strawberry, he's purty as hell.

He lets out a nicker and tosses his head,
There's blood in his eyes and that blood's turnin' red.
I sez, "You damned outlaw, just wait till I'm through,
`Cause I'm gonna kick all the shit out of you."

I takes my reata, I makes me a loop,
Old Strawberry's ready, he lets out a poop.
I walks right up to him, he offers no sass,
But reached down and bit out a piece of my ass.

The hands were all laffin' and doin' a dance,
I'm hurtin' and jumpin' and shittin' my pants.
They throws on my Hamley and I climbs aboard,
And he starts into buckin' like a Model T Ford.

Well, talk about buckin', he lets out a fart,
And it seems to ol' Fletch that the world's come apart.
He goes to sunfishin' and takes to the air,
A-doin' his damndest to leave me up there.

He's buckin' and bawlin' and playin' no pranks,
My Garcia gut-hooks are fuckin' his flanks.
When all of a sudden he lands on all four,
That bastard's as useless as tits on a boar.

He starts his frog walkin', and sure as you're born,
I'm crackin' my balls on that damned saddle horn.
I loses both stirrups, my Stetson, my rein,
And I makes a grab for that shitass's mane.

The corral was all muddy and slicker than glass,
I lands on a rock and I busted my ass.
Old Strawberry's chargin', he's mean, yes sir-ee,
That bastard's a-kickin' the shit out of me.

Now I'm here to tell you that bastard could kick,
I sez, "Motherfucker, I'll slice off your prick."
I takes my old jackknife and I made a stab,
But Strawberry's wiser `cause he made a grab.

I lays in the mud, its the end of the trail,
Old Strawberry turns and he lifts up his tail,
For I was the loser, went down in disgrace,
And now that it's over, he shits in my face.

Text C, "Bumming Around Town"

I was bumming around town, not spending a dime,
So steps in a whorehouse, to have a good time.
Up steps an old bitch, who says I suppose,
That your a good cunt-man, by the cut of your clothes.

I'm a young airman a'building my fame.
Do you happen to have any old whore to tame?
Yes, I am one that you cannot fuck;
At throwing good riders, I've had lots of luck.
So I lays an old ten spot right down on the line,
And she steps in the bedroom and pulls down the blind.

She lay on the bed with a horrible groan
The hair on her ass was strawberry roan;
She commenced her wild movement, and I made my pass,
And landed my donneker right square in her ass.
Now, I'm telling you boys that old gal could step,
And I was an airman a'building my rep.
With a hell of a lunge and a god-awful cry,
She left me a'sitting way up in the sky.

I turned over twice `ere I came back to earth,
And I lay there a'cussing the day of her birth;
Now I'm telling you boys, there's no pilot alive,
That can ride that old bitch when she makes that high dive.

Source: The Whorehouse Bells Were Ringing (and Other Songs Cowboys sing), Guy Logsdon, University of Illinois Press, 1989

JRO