Marty Robbins
Marty Robbins - Cowboy in the continental suit songtekst
Je score:
Well, he walked out in the arena, All dressed up to the brim, Said he just came down, From a place called Highland Rim, Well, he said he came to ride a horse, The one they call The Brute, But he didn't look like a cowboy, In his continental suit. We snickered at the way he dressed But he never said a word, He walks on by the rest of us As if he hadn't heard, A thousand bucks went to the man That could ride this wild cayuse, A meaner horse was never born Than the one they called "The Brute." The horse that he was lookin' for Was in shute number eight, He walked up very slowly, Put his hand upon the gate, We knew he was a thoroughbred When he pulled a sack of Dukes, From the inside pocket Of his continental suit. Well, he rolled himself a Quirley And he lit it standing there, He blew himself a smoke ring And he watched it disappear, We thought he must be crazy When he opened up the gate, Standing just inside was Fifteen hundred pounds of hate. The buckskin tried to run him down But the stranger was too quick, He stepped aside and threw his arms Around the horse's neck, And he pulled himself upon the back Of the horse they call "The Brute", Sat like he was born there In his continental suit. The Brute's hind-end was in the air, His front-end on the ground, Kickin' and a-squealin', Trying to shake the stranger down, But the stranger didn't give an inch; He came to ride "The Brute", And he came to ride the buckskin In a continental suit. Well, I turned around to look at Jim And he was watching me, He said, "I don't believe The crazy things I think I see, But I think I see the outlaw, The one they call "The Brute", Ridden by a cowboy In a continental suit. The Brute came to a standstill, Ashamed that he'd been rode, By a city cowboy in Some continental clothes, The stranger took his money And we don't know where he went, We don't know where he came from And we haven't seen him since. The moral of this story: Never judge by what they wear; Underneath some ragged clothes Could be a millionaire, Everybody, listen: Don't be fooled by this galoot, The sure enough bronc-buster In a Continental suit...