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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Phil LeNoir

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Down on the Ol' Bar-G

Phil LeNoir

From “Western Poems”

THE BOSS he took a trip to France—

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

He left his gal to run the ranch,

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

She wouldn’t let us chew nor cuss,

Had to keep slicked up like a city bus,

So round-up time was u-nan-i-muss

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

Our round-up cook, he soon got th’u,

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

Found his clay pipe right in the stew,

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

But when we let that feller go

We married grief an’ we married woe,

For the gal opined she’d bake the dough,

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

Wisht you’d seen her openin’ meal

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

We all blinked twict—seemed plumb unreal,

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

We had figs an’ fudge an whipped-up pru’in,

An’ angel cake all dipped in goo-in,

“My Gawd!” said Tex, “my stomick’s ruint”—

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

We quit that job an’ cook-ladee

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

An’ pulled our freight for the lone prair-ee,

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.

For out on the range we could chew an’ cuss

An’ git real mean an’ bois-ter-uss,

Whar apron-strings they couldn’t rope us

Down on the ol’ Bar-G.