An ode to the Cowboy hat.
Author Unknown, originally published in May 1964.
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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