My old buddy and I have been pards for over 50 years.
Back then, we rode out as young waddies together.
Wintered in the mountains, brush busted for renegade steers,
And hunkered down long term in line shacks in rugged weather.
Rodeo’d together and visited one another in the ICU.
Hunted, fished, and chased pretty women in little towns.
It was, and is, a good friendship, strong and true.
Why, we even finished up together as rodeo clowns.
Now sitting here in this retirement home playing cards
We’ve got much to remember and jaw about.
Just two old cowboys who are long term pards
One kind of skinny and the other going stout.
But I must admit I am feeling a deep kind of shame,
For darn my hide, no matter how hard I try,
I can not remember my old pard’s name.
“Amigo, I am embarrassed as a man caught in a lie.
I can not think of what you are called!”
My mind has gone blank and there’s just nothing there
To get it started. It is just plain stalled!
“ So my old friend just sits there giving me an awful glare
And responds: “You old dingle berried crow!
That’s an awful thing to do, considering all we’ve been through!
And for that matter, how soon do you need to know?”
With thanks to Bill Morse for the idea. © 2001, D. Hayes, All Rights Reserved