With a thousand-foot drop if a pony should slip.
Oh, the day it was wet and the sky it was cloudy,
The trail was as slick as an oil-rigger’s pants,
When Ranger McCabe on his pony, Old Rowdy,
Came ridin’ where walkin’ was takin’ a chance.
“Oh, Roll A Rock Down!” picks and shovels was clangin’,
And Rowdy a-steppin’ that careful and light,
When the edge it gave way and McCabe was left hangin’
Clean over the rim—with no bottom in sight.
I shook out a loop—bein’ crowded for throwin’;