I’ve always loved the Westerns,
Although it may seem strange.
A ginger Scot kens not a lot
Of life oot on the range.
And yet, these old-time tales
Have always had allure:
The dust, the lust, the fightin’
The strugglin’, scrabblin’ poor.
I longed tae be a cowboy,
Despite ma Highland lilt,
And problems that confront ye
On horseback, in a kilt
And so it was, some five years back,
I bought myself that horse,
(Called Hamish), boots, a Stetson,
And a pick-up truck, of course.
The boots, the hat and pick-up,
Raised not a single eye.
But Hamish was a problem.
Listen up, I’ll tell ye why.
For while this noble critter
Is king upon the plain,
A flat just wasnae fittin’
For ma horse tae have free rein.
Ma neighbour, an old whiner,
Was less than well impressed,
And he couldnae have been clearer
That he wouldnae let things rest.
He hollered through ma keyhole
“I’m aff tae call the law!”
And that Hamish would be ‘dogfood’,
Which was just the final straw.
When faced with no-good varmints
Who want tae spoil his fun,
A cowboy makes his choices;
I went oot and bought a gun.
Next day, the sun was blazin’.
The clock approached High Noon.
My neighbour had nae warnin’.
His time was comin’ soon.
I spied him in the backyard,
And aimed right at his head.
I couldnae wait to see
That low-life full of lead.
But fate’s a fickle mistress.
She was that day, alas.
He bent tae pick some bluebells,
And I shot him in the ass.
The law arrived soon after.
They hauled me off to jail,
And that jackass to a sawbones,
To attend his wounded tail.
I’m stuck here in the hoosegow,
The range seems far away,
The Sheriff’s makin’ sure
That I will have a guid long stay.*
Guards yell: “Stop talkin’ cowboy!”
It seems tae cause them stress,
Tae sound like you’re from Texas,
When ye come frae Inverness.
Now Hamish hauls a milk float
Around ma neighbourhood.
But, unlike me, at least he’s free,
So I suppose that’s good.
The years yawn like a desert.
It’s not the life I’d choose.
I love yon country music,
But these days I sing the blues.
Someday, I’ll head to Tucson
(At least that’s ma wee dream),
Drive cattle through the canyon,
And sleep beside a stream.
I’ll sit with ma compadres,
Aroon’ the evenin’ fire,
Drink Scotch from oot the bottle,
And the day that I expire
Look back upon ma lifetime
The pleasure and the pain,
And pray that up in heaven,
I get tae meet John Wayne.
* The judges who deal with most crime in Scotland are in fact called Sheriffs.
