Tyin' Knots In The Devil's Tail

Ramblin' Jack Elliot

Way high up in the Sierry Peaks

Where the yellow-jack pines grow tall,

Old Buster Jiggs and Sandy Bob

Had a round-up camp last fall.



Well they took along their running irons

Maybe a dog or two,

And they 'lowed thy'd brand every long-eared calf

That came within their view.



Now every little long-eared dogie

That didn't push up by day,

Got his long ears whittled and his old hide scorched

In a most artistic way.



One fine day, says Buster Jiggs,

As he throws his seago down,

"I'm tired of cow-pyrography

And I think I'm a goin' into town."



Well they saddled up, and they hit a lope

For it warn't no sight of a ride,

And them was the days that a good cow-punch

Could oil up his insides.



Well they started in at Kentucky Bar,

At the head of Whisky Row,

And they wound her up at the Depot House

About forty drinks below.



Well they sets 'em up and they turns around

And they started in the other way,

And to tell the God-forsaken truth

Them boys got drunk that day.



They was on their way, goin' back to camp

A-packin' that awful load,

When who should they meet but the Devil himself

Come a-traipsin' down the road.



He says, "You ornery cowboy skunks

You better go hunt for your holes,

'Cause I've come up from Hell's rim rock

Just to gather in your souls.



"The Devil be damned," says Buster Jiggs,

"Us boys is a little bit tight;

But you don't go gatherin' no cowboys' souls

Without one helluva fight."



Now Buster Jiggs could ride like hell

And throw a lasso, too,

So he threw it over the Devil's horns

And he took his dallies true.



Now Sandy Bob was a reata man

With his gut-line coiled up neat;

But he shook her out and he builds a loop

And he roped the Devils hind feet.



Well t