He claimed he rode
the bad ones plumb
from Canada on south.
He'd rode them in the wet.
He'd rode them in the drought.
He rode them where the
Bronx was small
and where the Bronx was big.
He had a lot of birdies
made of silver on his rig.
He said he never rode before
for such a little spread,
but well, if we had some Bronx to bust,
he'd snap a few, he said.
Well, the boss,
he kind of blinks his eyes
and toes a piece of ground.
Of course, he said, us punchers here
ain't never been around,
but, well, if your pride could
stand to ride
amongst a bunch of hicks,
I'll hire y 'all.
Maybe you could learn us all
some tricks.
The stranger's name was Buck LaRue.
He wore a fancy boot,
and from all his talk,
you'd think he learned the
hoot -owl how to hoot.
But Joe, the old top -beater,
always counter -held his jaw.
He just rode him as they come,
never raised no big hurrah.
He cut LaRue some four -year -olds
and watched him snap them out.
This buck could fork a bronc,
he said,
of that there's little doubt.
But when they talked a -riding
in the evenings after chow,
it was Buck LaRue
that never failed to tell the others how.
He'd say,
you made a middlin' right
upon that great a day,
but Joe, I rode them awful
tough out Arizona way.
Why, I forked them in Wyoming
an d the South Dakota hills
where you gotta set them saltier.
They'll jolt you to the gills.
But Joe just went on ridin',
never puttin' on a show.
His spurs was never bloody,
and you never heard him blow.
Then came the day
when Buck LaRue got spilt
upon the ground,
I guess this roan colt hadn't heard
how Buck had been around.
Damned his soul, said Buck,
and you could see it hurt his pride.
This two -bit ranch can't
raise a horse
that Buck LaRue can't ride.
So Buck screwed down on him once again.
The roan unraveled quick,
and where he throwed old Buck this time,
the dust was pretty thick.
The third time that he throwed him,
Buck's tongue forgot to wag.
Joe steps up kinda quiet
and says, let me try that little nag.
Chances are he'll throw me
for his buck is off
and said I'm just a local rider
from a little two bits spread.
Well Joe swung to the saddle,
raked that road both fore and aft,
the road done plenty bucking
but Joe just sat and laughed.
I'm just a poor old country boy
raised weak on country chuck.
ain't never seen an elephant
or spun the world like Buck.
Come on, old horse,
show me how you lay
him on the ground first.
Buck has often told you
I ain't never been around.
Well, that roam horse
bucked the darndest
that a country bronco could
and Joe just sat there smiling,
setting deep down in the wood.
Once he done a lick of sperm
just to give the boys a show.
Buck stood there watching
with his head held kinda low.
Well, Joe rung him dry a -buckin'
like a ringer rings a shirt,
then he stepped down from the saddle,
being plenty fresh an d purred.
He says to Buck, You take him,
and give his hat a whirl.
Oh, in case he's still too tough for you,
just give him to your girl.
Now, there's a moral to this story,
as most of you have guessed,
and it's known by most cow punchers
most everywheres out west.
For most of us have noticed,
well, it's generally the case,
the toughest Bronx of big mouth rides
has been some other place.
Waddie Mitchell 
