One of Their Kind (My Cowboys Have Always Been Singers)

By Allan Roy Andrews

My cowboys have always been singers,
totin’ guitars and not forty-fours,
and they’d never demand sarsaparilla
as they strode through those carved, swinging doors.
They’d more likely ride on the airwaves
than on stallions with saddles that shine,
and they seem to talk more about women
than cactus or sagebrush and pine.

They sing about ramblin’, gamblin’ and sin,
and moan about troubles in mind,
but whenever I’m caught in their long-playing spin,
I know that I’m one of their kind.

I don’t wear a Stetson or spurs on my boots,
and I don’t favor riding a horse,
but give me a girl in a honky-tonk bar,
and I’ll sing her a sad song, of course.
If I seem an urbane contradiction,
mixing cowboys and hot city streets,
just remember, Roy Rogers and Trigger
came to life in old theater seats.

They sing about drinkin’, thinkin’ and sin,
and moan about troubles in mind,
and whenever I’m caught in their long-playing spin,
I know that I’m one of their kind.

I’ve never been west of New Jersey.
I can’t rope and never roll smokes.
I’m known to sip vodka and whiskey
and in turn relate off-color jokes.
But when I’m alone in my pondering,
two friends seem to always belong:
One is my champion, Jesus,
and the other’s a cowboy in song.

They sing about playin’, prayin’ and sin,
and moan about troubles in mind.
But whenever I’m caught in their long-playing spin,
I know that I’m one of their kind.

*This song was posted to
The American Reporter [http://www.american-reporter.com]
as a tribute to Roy Rogers and singing cowboys
on the occasion of Rogers’ death in July, 1998.

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