High Chin Bob

Away up high in tbe Mogollons
Among the mountain tops,
A lion cleaned a yearlin's bones
And licked his thankful chops
When who upon the scene should ride
A-trippin' down tbe slope,
But High Chin Bob, with sinful pride
And maverick-hungry mpe.

cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he,
"And fame's unfading flowers,
I ride my top horse here today;
l'm top hand at the Lazy J-
So, Kitty Cat, you're ours."

The lion licked his paws so brown
And dreamed sweet dreams of veal.
A big wide loop came circlin' down
And roped him round his meal.
He yowled wild furey to the world
And all the hills yowled back,
The top horse gave a snort and whirled
And Bob took up the slack.

cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he,
"We'll hit the glory trail
No man has roped a lion's head
And lived to drag the bugger dead
'Til I shall tell the tale."

Away up high in tbe Mogollons
That top horse done his best
Through whippin' brush and rattlin' stones,
From canyon floor to crest.
Whenever Bob he turned and hoped
The last remains to find,
A red-eyed lion, belly-roped
But healthy, loped behind.

cho: "Oh, glory be to me," says he,
"This glory trail is rough,
I'll keep this dally round the horn
Until the toot of Judgment Morn,
Before I holler 'nough!'"

Three suns had rode their circle home
Beyond the desert rim,
And turned their star herds loose to roam
The ranges high and dim
Yet up and down, andd 'round and 'cross
Bob pounded, weak and wan
But pride still glued him to his horse
And glory drove him on.

cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he,
"He can't be drug to death.
Those heros that I've read about
Were only fools that stuck it out
'Til the end of mortal breath."

Away up high in tbe Mogollons
If you're ever there at night,
You'll hear a rukus mid the stones
That'll lift your hair in fright.
You'll see a cow horse thunder by
And a lion trail along,
And a rider gant, but chin on high
Sing forth his glory song:

cho: "Oh glory be to me," says he,
"And to my mighty noose,
I took a ragin' dream in tow
And tho I never laid him low,
I never turned him loose!

Note: Folk-processed from a poem by Charles Badger Clark, 1908 RG
From He Was Singing This Song, Tinsley
RG