Texty: Marty Robbins. Gunfighter Ballads & Trail Songs. The Strawberry Roan.

I was hangin' around town, just spendin' my time
Out of a job, not earnin' a dime
A feller steps up and he said, "I suppose
You're a bronc fighter from the looks of your clothes"

"You figures me right, I'm a good one", I claim
"Do you happen to have any bad ones to tame?"
Said, "He's got one, a bad one to buck
For throwin' good riders, he's had lots of luck"

I gets all het up and I ask what he pays
To ride this old nag for a couple of days
He offered me ten, I said, "I'm your man
A bronc never lived that I couldn't fan"

He said, "Get your saddle, I'll give you a chance"
In his buckboard we hops and he drives to the ranch
I stayed until mornin' and right after chuck
I stepped out to see if this outlaw can buck

Down in the horse corral, standin' alone
Is an old Caballo, a Strawberry Roan
His legs are all spavined, he's got pigeon toes
Little pig eyes and a big Roman nose

Little pin ears that touch at the tip
A big 44 brand was on his left hip
U-necked and old with a long, lower jaw
I could see with one eye, he's a regular outlaw

I gets the blinds on 'im and it sure is a fright
Next comes the saddle and I screws it down tight
Then I steps on 'im and I raises the blinds
Get out the way boys, he's gonna unwind

He sure is a frog-walker, he heaves a big sigh
He only lacks wings for to be on the fly
He turns his old belly right up to the sun
He sure is a sun-fishin', son-of-a-gun

He's about the worst bucker I've seen on the range
He'll turn on a Nickel and give you some change
He hits on all fours and goes up on high
Leaves me a spinnin' up there in the sky

I turns over twice and I comes back to earth
I lights in the cussin' the day of his birth
I know there are ponies that I cannot ride
There's some of them left, they haven't all died

I'll bet all my money
The man ain't alive
That'll stay with Old Strawberry
When he makes his high dive