And the hawse may be prince of his clan
But he'll bow to the bit and the steel-shod boot
And own that his boss is the man.
When the devil at rest underneath my vest
Gets up and begins to paw
And my hot tongue strains at its bridle reins,
Then I tackle the real outlaw.
When I get plumb riled and my sense goes wild
And my temper is fractious growed,
If he'll hump his neck just a triflin' speck,