An ode to the Cowboy hat. 

Author Unknown, originally published in May 1964.

Old-Stetson-Hat Stained with alkali, sand and mud,
Smeared by grease and crimson blood,
Battered and bent from constant use,
Still you have stood the dang abuse.

A true companion through all these years,
Fanning broncs and longhorn steers,
I dedicate this to the old gray lid,
For the useful things the old hat did.

Used to decoy some rustler’s lead,
Or as a pillow beneath my head;
Coaxing a smoldering fire in the cold,
Panning dust in search of gold.

Pushed up big and knocked down flat,
Has been the lot of my Stetson hat;
For carrying oats to a piebald bronc,
Security for drinks at the Honky Tonk.

Mistreated, abused on a roundup spree,
Walked on, tromped on, old J.B.;
Fighting fire in a clapboard shack,
And stopping wind in an open crack.

Been everywhere that a hat can go,
In forty-eight states and Mexico.
I’ve grown old as we trailed along,
While you, old hat, are going strong;

You have been a good pal through all of that,
You dirty, old gray, old Stetson hat.

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