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Windy Bill was a Texas man
Well, he could rope, you bet.
He swore the steer he couldn't tie-
Well, he hadn't found him yet.
But the boys they knew of an old black steer,
A sort of an old outlaw
That ran down in the malpais
At the foot of a rocky draw.

This old black steer had stood his ground
With punchers from everywhere ;
So they bet old Bill at two to one
That he couldn't quite get there.
Then Bill brought out his old gray hoss,
His withers and back were raw,
And prepared to tackle the big black brute
That ran down in the draw.

With his Brazos bit and his Sam Stack tree*,
His chaps and taps to boot,
And his old maguey** tied hard and fast,
Bill swore he'd get the brute.
Now, first Bill sort of sauntered round.
Old Blackie began to paw
Then threw his tail straight in the air
And went driftin' down the draw.

The old gray plug flew after him,
For he'd been eatin' corn;
And Bill, he piled his old maguey
Right round old Blackie's horns.
The old gray hoss he stopped right still;
The cinches broke like straw,
And the old maguey and the Sam Stack tree
Went driftin' down the draw.

Bill, he lit in a flint rock pile,
His face and hands was scratched.
He said he thought he could rope a snake,
But he guessed he'd met his match;
He paid his bets like a little man
Without a bit of jaw
And 'lowed old Blackie was the boss
Of anything in the draw.

There's a moral to my' story, boys,
And that you all must see.
Whenever you go to tie a snake
Don't tie it to your tree;
But take your dolly welters
'Cordin' to California law,
And you'll never see your old rim-fire
Go drifting down the draw.

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