Here is the version printed in the Arizona Record, Thursday, December 16, 1915, and reprinted with two corrections in John I. White, "Git Along, Little Dogies," p. 143-145 (with partial sheet music to the tune by Nubbins of the Arizona Wranglers, ca. 1930). The words below are from a photocopy of the newspaper kindly provided by Dena McDuffie, Archivist, Southern Arizona Div., Arizona Historical Society.

THE OUTLAW BRONCHO
(Curley Fletcher)

I was loafin' around just spendin' muh time
Out of a job and I hadn't a dime,
When a feller steps up and sez he "I suppose
That yore uh bronc fighter by the looks o' your clothes."

Well I thought he was right and I told him the same,
Then I asks has he got any bad ones to tame.
He says he has one a bad one tuh buck,
And fur piling good cowboys he has lots uh luck.

Well I gets all excited and asks what he pays,
Tuh ride that old pony a couple uh days.
He offers ten dollars Sez I "I'm yure man,
Fur the bronk never lived that I couldn't fan."

I don't like to brag but I got this tuh say,
That I ain't been throwed fur many a day.
Sez he git yur saddle I'll give yuh a chance,
So I gits in his buckboard and drifts tuh his ranch.

I stays until mornin' and right after chuck,
I steps out tuh see if that outlaw kin buck.
He was down in the hoss corral standing alone,
A snakey eyed outlaw, a strawberry roan.

His legs is all spavined he's got pigeon toes,
Little pig eyes and a long roman nose.
Little pin ears that touched at the tip,
An X. Y. Z. iron stamped on his hip.

Yew necked he is with a long lower jaw.
All the things that you'll see on a wild outlaw.
Well I puts on muh spurs I'm sure feelin' fine,
Turns up muh hat and picks up muh twine.

I dabs that loop on him and well I knows then,
That before he is rode I'll sure eard that ten.
Igets my blinds on him it shore is a fight,
Next comes muh saddle I screws it down tight.

Then I gets on him I sez 'raise the blind,
Move out uv his way and les see him unwind."
Well be bows his old neck and I guess he unwound,
For he ain't spendin' much uv his time on the ground.

He turns his old belly right up to the sun,
He shore is a sunfishing son-of-a-gun.
He goes up toward the east and comes down toward the west,
To stay on his middle I'm doin' my best.

He is the worst bucker I sees on the range,
He could turn on a dime and give you back change.
He hits on all fours and turns up on his side,
I don't see how he keeps from sheddin' his hide.

I tell yuh, no foolin', that caballo can step,
I was still in my saddle, abuildin' some rep.
Away goes muh stirrups and I loses* muh hat,
I'm grabbin' the apple and blind as a bat.
*looses in the newspaper

He shore is frog walkin' he heaves a big sigh,
He only lacks wings fur tuh be on the fly.
An while he's a bucking he squeals like a shoat,
I tell yuh that pony has shore got muh goat.

With a phenominal jump he kicks her in high,
And I'm settin' on nothin' way up in the sky.
And then I descends, I come back tuh earth,
And I lights into cussin' the day of his birth.

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