1st Verse
It was Friday night at the Little Buckaroo
rodeo
He sat behind the chutes and waited for
his turn to go
And when that sheep exploded from the
gate, the boy held on
He rode him for the full eight seconds and
later learned he'd won
2nd Verse
He strode into the arena, so that he could
claim his prize
A shiny new gold buckle, just for him, in
jumbo size
And though he called me papa, for a moment
I was sad
This was just the kind of moment that I'd
wqnt to share with Dad
1st Chorus
And I wish he could have been there to see
it
But then again, I think that he did
And I really wish somehow I could see him
see it
And see the grin light up his face, just
like the one on that kid
3rd verse
Well, that big new mutton bustin' buckle
planted a seed
And a little boy got a little taste of
what it feels like to succeed
He always did his best, he always tried
and he tried
Today he's vowed to give all of his best
to his new bride
2nd Chorus
And I wish that Dad was here now to see it
But then again, I think that he can
And I really wish somehow I could see him
see it
And see the pride in his eyes as that boy
becomes a man
Bridge
Now every grandpa has to face his setting
sun
But it will shine on when that mutton
buster holds his newborn son
3rd Chorus
And I hope that Dad will be there to see
it
Somehow I just know that he will
And I really wish somehow I could see him
see it
I guess I'll just have to wait until
My own sun sets to share that thrill
Tag
It was Friday night at the Little Buckaroo
rodeo........
© 2010, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments:
The inspiration for this song came at a local kid's rodeo, where my
oldest grandson, Ethan, then 6, won the mutton bustin' competition. My
father had passed away shortly prior to this event. I told my wife I
wished he could have been there to see it. She replied that she wished
she could see his face as he watched. I had to drive Ethan home, over
300 miles, the next day, and the lyrics came to me on the drive.
Old Hat
1st verse
I came home from work, sat down to supper,
tuned in to watch the news
And in between bites, my ears picked up
somethin' that left my poor heart feelin' bruised
I turned up the volume and hoped what the
anchorman said somehow just wasn't true
Then tried to imagine what western music
will be like without Chris LeDoux
2nd verse
He threw on the saddle, stepped in the
stirrup, and swung on to take his last ride
And in a few moments, just maybe eight
seconds, he managed to cross that divide
He played with the cards he was given, he
never complained 'bout the deal
He cashed in his chips, and now he's a
slidin' down the other side of the hill
1st chorus
But who's gonna sing to the cowboys, and
tell of the rodeo ways
And sing of the life lived beneath western
skies, ridin' broncs and gatherin' strays
Many will follow the hoofprints, one fact
is sad, but it's true
No other will sing like the voice out from
under the old hat of Chris LeDoux
bridge
Bang a drum for the Cadillac Cowboy and
for all of the things he did best
For old Bareback Jack, and the one road
man, who was tougher than all the rest
2nd chorus
But who's gonna sing to the cowboys, and
tell of the rodeo ways
And sing of the life lived beneath western
skies, ridin' broncs and gatherin' strays
And who's gonna head for the mountains to
answer the call of the wild
And ride for a fall, be the voice of us
all, every western child
Many will follow the hoofprints, one fact
is sad, but it's true
No other will sing like the voice out from
under the old hat of Chris LeDoux
No other will sing like the voice out from
under the old hat of Chris LeDoux
© 2010, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments: One
night, in March of 2005, I came home from work, sat down to supper, and
heard of the death of Chris LeDoux on the news, just as the song says. I
wrote most of the lyrics that night in the bathtub.
I had met Chris about 13
years earlier. My former band, Diamondback, was set to warm up for Chris
LeDoux and Western Underground that night, at Utah State University.
When Chris arrived for the sound check, he sat down and talked with me
for about 15 minutes, just like we were old buddies. He was excited that
night, because he had just been invited to record "Whatcha Gonna Do With
a Cowboy" with Garth Brooks. I was much impressed with his down-to-earth
manner and his genuine offer of camaraderie that night. His performance
was also riveting, as always.
He was the real deal: a
real cowboy, and a great songwriter and performer. He lived with a
passion for the western way of life, and turned countless others on to
the lifestyle we love with his signature "Rodeo Rock and Roll."
I made a point to use some
of his lines and song titles in the lyrics. One of my favorite Chris
LeDoux songs will always be "Under This Old Hat." As the last line of my
tribute to him says, "No other will sing like the voice out from under
the Old Hat of Chris LeDoux."
And, as a side note, to
anyone who reads this far: God bless Brenn Hill.
He is, in my opinion, the greatest living songwriter of western music.
Equine is a masterpiece! Go
Team Briggs (teambriggs.org)!
[Ed. note:
Learn more about Chris LeDoux at the official site,
www.chrisledoux.com.]
Ridin' High
Chorus
Ridin' high up in the mountains
Feels so good I feel like shoutin'
Leave my cares in the valley far below
Ridin' high up in the mountains
1st verse
Load those ponies in the trailer
Watch that eastern sky grow paler
Race the daylight up the canyon
All my worries are abandoned
2nd verse
I just point old Blaze, he steps out
walkin'
Ain't no sound, no need for talkin'
Just muffled hoofbeats on the game trail
And clean, fresh mountain air that we smell
chorus
When I'm ridin' high up in the
mountains
Feels so good I feel like shoutin'
Leave my cares in the valley far below
Ridin' high up in the mountains
bridge
Ridin' high, ridin' high
Eye level with the eagle as she flies
3rd verse
Camp out underneath the stars
Ain't no sound from passin' cars
Just coyotes howlin' in the moonlight
I can't believe the stars are so bright
chorus
When we're ridin' high up in the
mountains
Feels so good I feel like shoutin'
Leave my cares in the valley far below
Ridin' high up in the mountains
© 2010, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments:
"Ridin
High" was inspired by one of my favorite pastimes; riding my horses in
the mountains. Here in northern Utah there are countless good trails to
ride on into the high country. I ride with friends for pleasure, to help
move cattle, and to scout and hunt for elk and deer. I belong to the
Backcountry Horsemen of
America, an organization that is dedicated to perpetuating the use
of horses and other pack animals on state and federal lands. BCHA
promotes education, cooperation, and using these trails and lands with
as little impact as possible. Members donate many hours for service
projects, such as trail improvements and trailhead equine facilities.
Upon My Horse's
Back
I walked into the auction barn,
my expectations high
I got a number, took a seat,
and wondered if I'd buy
I'd spent some time before the sale,
all during the preview
Compiling notes, comparing mounts;
I'd narrowed it to two
A big and strong young lineback dun
had spirit, speed, and flash
The tobiano bay paint colt
seemed worthy of my cash
The sale began, the gavel fell,
the first horse soon was bought
For twenty seven hundred, man,
it sure seemed like a lot
The lineback dun was fifth in line,
he sold for seven grand
I hung my head and wondered
how much more that I could stand
I knew the paint was kinda green,
and just a three year old
But had a stellar pedigree,
and soon he would be sold
Someone who had deeper pockets
was sure to outbid me
I knew well what my limit was;
I'd have to wait and see
But one thing in my favor,
that I hoped would work out fine
Was the fact the bay paint gelding
wore the number twenty nine
My thinking was, that most
of the big spenders would be gone
And maybe I could really get
what I was bidding on
He pranced into the ring
and all the cowboys turned to look
A real eye catcher, better than
the picture in the book
With perfect composition
and the way he held his head
Was proud and strong, with soft, kind eye
and flawlessly well bred
The bidding started at a grand,
and quickly raised up higher
My hand went up repeatedly,
so did another buyer's
And then I had an unforeseen
occurrence of sheer luck
The beautiful paint gelding changed
his trot into a buck
The other buyer chickened out,
he sat on his right hand
I bought a green, young buckin' horse
for just under two grand
I took him home and tried to ride him
each and every day
We had some disagreements
and some stress along the way
But soon I had a partner
who would rarely give me flack
And I loved every moment spent
upon my horse's back
We scouted alpine basins,
far above the summer heat
Finding all the secret places
big muley bucks retreat
Fall would come, and sometimes
there were elk quarters to pack
Tied up in the panniers strapped
upon my horse's back
Sometimes there were cows to push
we got to ride with Jay
And play the role of cowboy
from a distant, bygone day
And herd the dogies through the sage
and up the quakie draws
Or just take in the scenery
when on a ridge we'd pause
He packed me through the Wind Rivers
adventure at it's best
And sky high in the Uintas,
up almost to their crest
He'd drag a dry, old fallen log
to feed our nightly fire
He's always willing to go on;
he never seems to tire
He doesn't mind it, when some pals
of mine he's asked to pack
And they too, loved the time they spent
upon my horse's back
Now, at twenty, he will stand
while grandkids climb aboard
And walk real slow in the round pen;
he's patient, never bored
I still can always trust his calm
when we're in a tight spot
And he trusts me, a welcome change
from other nags I've fought
And sometimes I think of that day,
and of the bid I won
And can't help wonder how it might
have turned out with the dun
There's no use dwelling on the past,
considering what ifs
It's better to be thankful for
life's never ending gifts
Of all the memories that I own,
and I've got quite a stack
It seems the very best were made
upon my horse's back
© 2011, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments: This poem is a true story about my favorite
horse, Paleface Preacher. We have had many years of great rides
together, and I hope for many more.
Guitars, Rifles, and
Horses
chorus
Take guitars, rifles, and horses
They're three of the icons of the west
Give me guitars, rifles and horses
They're three of the things that I like best
1st verse
I love my jumbo Taylor, with a brand new set of strings
Tune her up, strum her hard, listen to her sing
With a neck that plays so easy, it almost plays itself
Can't leave her in the case for long, can't put her on the shelf
chorus
2nd verse
I love my Browning A-Bolt southpaw .270
She shoots real flat, right on the mark
But won't kick back at me
And way out in the desert
We have a lot of fun
My little .204 tips over rabbits on the run
chorus
He's shiny and he's sturdy
Just shy of sixteen hands
He's got a lot of motor
And he covers lots of land
And maybe he just likes me
Or maybe it's just luck
It's been at least five years now
Since Blaze has tried to buck
chorus
bridge
Put the rifle in the scabbard
Mount up before daylight
Hunt all day, play tunes around
The campfire's glow at night
chorus
Take guitars, rifles, and horses
They're three of the icons of the west
Give me guitars, rifles, and horses
They're three of the things that I like best
They're three of the things I love the best
© 2011, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments:
"Guitars, Rifles, and Horses" was an easy song to write. Three of my
favorite things are in the title. I love to play music, and have been
playing in bands since I was a teenager. The past few years I have
played numerous solo gigs as well, and have put more time and effort
into songwriting. So far, over 50 songs! I have also been a hunter my
entire life, and love to use horses to get far into the backcountry. An
ideal evening is one spent high in the mountains swapping lies around
the campfire. It's even better if I have room to take a guitar along,
and sing some songs by the fire's glow.
Bear Lake
is Still Blue
1st verse
A hot summer day
We were out for a drive
On the east shore of Bear Lake
We were so young and alive
We could hear the waves breaking
With the windows rolled down
Pulled off on the shoulder
Where there was no one around
2nd verse
She gave a smile and a wink
Said, "Let's go for a swim"
It was a matter of seconds
'Til we both had jumped in
To the cool azure water
Embraced by the blue
And the warm wind of summer
Back in seventy two
1st chorus
Green eyes, dark hair
Skin bronzed by the sun
Cool lake, warm lips
Strings of resistance undone
In too deep, over our heads
Back in seventy two
The Eagles on the radio
And Bear Lake was so blue
3rd verse
Ridin' high on a ridge
Slideout canyon below
She reins up beside me
In the new fallen snow
Trackin' elk through the timber
Takin' in the fall view
Lookin' down through the aspens
And Bear Lake is still blue
Bridge
Many years have gone by
Since that hot August day
Sometimes young love is fleeting
Sometimes it comes to stay
2nd chorus
Green eyes, dark hair
Still turnin' my head
True heart, warm lips
Stood by the vows that we said
Kept our heads above water
Since seventy two
Now she still wakes beside me
And Bear Lake is still blue
Now she still wakes beside me
And Bear Lake is still blue
© 2011, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments: The
first weekend of July of 2010, I was attending the Bear Lake Cowboy
Gathering in Montpelier, Idaho. I signed up for a few "open mic" slots.
While listening to some of the other performers, I was impressed with
the beautiful backdrop behind the main stage. It was a panoramic view of
Bear Lake, which straddles the Utah/Idaho border.
I have driven Logan Canyon
literally hundreds of times, and I still marvel at the view of Bear
Lake, from the Logan Canyon summit. The backdrop mural showed a cowboy
on a horse, with the lake in the background, and puffy white clouds in a
blue sky. I had the idea for the title ("Bear Lake is Still Blue")
almost immediately, and wanted to convey in words, that while other
things in the world are constantly changing, the azure blue beauty of
Bear Lake is a constant thing.
The events outlined in the song lyrics are all based on my own real
experiences. Thanks to Arden and Jan Gailey for hosting the Bear Lake
Cowboy Gathering, for letting me perform and jam; and to my beautiful
wife, Paulette, for being part of the inspiration for the song.
A Cowboy's Home Ain't Always
on the Range
1st Verse
He pulled into the lonely truck stop diner
An F-350 and a Featherlite
With miles and miles of empty sage behind him
But overhead, a welcome neon light
She watched him stop and step down from the pickup
A quick check on his horses, and then he turned
And walked toward the front door of the cafe
And back across the bridge he thought he'd burned
Chorus
Half of him just wanted to keep
runnin'
A cowboy's life is oh, so hard to change
The other half was pullin' like a magnet
A cowboy's home ain't always on the range
2nd Verse
She thought about the last
time that he held her
His arms so strong, his gentle calloused hands
But she knew well, that four walls couldn't hold him
'Cause cowboys need to be out on the land
They came together like a force of nature
A love that time and distance couldn't change
A cowgirl always waits home for her cowboy
A cowboy's home ain't always on the range
Chorus
Half of him just wanted to keep runnin'
A cowboy's life is oh, so hard to change
The other half was pullin' like a magnet
A cowboy's home ain't always on the range
A cowgirl always waits home for her cowboy
A cowboy's home ain't always on the range
© 2011, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments: I
wrote this song as a vehicle for a duet with my singing partner, Mary Jo
Hansen. She has a great, compelling voice. A key change in the second
verse highlights her stellar vocals, and gives the female take on this
fictional story. Bottom line: The cowboy is torn between his freedom and
his relationship. The cowgirl is patiently waiting for him to settle
down: A Cowboy's Home Ain't Always on the Range.
Sasquatch
It's a common nighttime
topic, in the mountains, after dark
About the time you've settled in, and the campfire throws no sparks.
Is there such a thing as Bigfoot, or Sasquatch, as they're known?
Even those who think it's possible, won't admit it on their own.
There hasn't been an answer yet, to whether they exist.
But here's my take, you might agree; this point is often missed.
To those who sleep in camp trailers, the thought is just absurd.
They'll scoff and say it's ludicrous, won't hear another word.
But, if they're camping in a tent, they'll keep an open mind;
At least admit it's possible for science yet to find.
But those who sleep under the stars will seldom voice resistance
to such ideas; in fact, they might just swear to its existence.
Some claim they've seen the hairy beast, but won't divulge their names,
not wanting all the ridicule, the laughter, and the shame.
But what about those plaster casts of giant five-toed feet
found twenty miles back in the woods, anatomically complete?
Some tracks show minute detail, dermal ridges on the soles,
and sweat pores showing on the cast as tiny little holes.
Would a hoaxer go in twenty miles to leave such detailed tracks,
just to fool some hardy soul, so far in the outback?
And so, I tried these arguments one night on White Pine creek.
Jim listened, sometimes nodded, but Bill had yet to speak.
With horses on a highline in a grassy alpine park,
we built a roaring fire to make coals for after dark.
We tended the Dutch ovens, as they slowly simmered,
then, checked the horses one more time, before we ate our dinner.
I kept the sasquatch talk a goin', then Bill blurted out,
"You can't fool me, I know what this is really all about."
"You guys are nuts, you really think I'll buy that bunch of crap?"
We let him rant and rave awhile, before we sprang the trap.
Well, Jim would put his size to use, when we had gone to bed,
And Bill was snuggled in his blankets, cozy and well fed.
Jim was six foot six, three hundred pounds, his hair was long and shaggy.
A few years back, he'd started at left tackle for the Aggies.
We ate our meal, rolled bedrolls out, the fire slowly fading,
then came a splash from in the creek, like somebody was wading.
"What's that!", yelled Bill, now bolt upright, his eyes the darkness
searching.
He saw a shape behind a tree, a swaying and a lurching.
Well, Jim and I had used some caution with our wicked fun.
We'd made sure Bill was unarmed, 'cause real soon he'd want a gun!
"Okay", Bill said, "Where's Jim, are you guys trying to scare me?"
"I saw something, or someone, go and hide behind that tree."
Bill had no clue, but that was Dick, dressed in a black ape suit.
He was even bigger than Jim was, and quite muscular, to boot.
About this time, Jim ran in from the woods, the other way
from where Bill had been pointing, his face was ashen gray.
"Did you see that!" Jim whispered, now Bill was really scared.
He had to ask Jim something, but he hardly even dared!
"Where have you been? I thought that what I saw had to be you!"
Jim said, "Well, mother nature called, and then I saw it too!"
"So you weren't over there, just now, wading in the creek?"
"NO" said Jim, "I saw a SQUATCH, it really made me freak!"
I acted like I just woke up, said "Hey, what's going on?"
Bill's eyes were fixed upon the tree, his mouth was tight and drawn.
"Did you see that!" he said, wide eyed, with terror on his face.
"See what?" I said, "A UFO, and visitors from space?"
"Behind the tree!" hissed Bill in fright, "I think he just peeked out!"
If Bill was skeptical before, we'd now erased all doubt.
Dick played his role with expertise, made me and Jim both proud.
Just swaying there behind the tree, moon hidden by a cloud.
The darkness did the rest, a man became a frightened boy,
not knowing Dick was Sasquatch, and that Jim was the decoy.
Bill ran back to the highway in the dark for seven miles,
and flagged down the first car he saw, hysterical all the while.
We tried real hard to catch him, it was to no avail.
I'm not sure how we missed him, but his tracks weren't on the trail.
Now, looking back, I guess we maybe went a bit too far.
Bill left a big brown racing stripe on the front seat of that car.
The driver of the car, and Bill, enrolled in therapy
for post-traumatic stress syndrome, from a beast they didn't see.
Bill never went back to the woods, he never was the same.
And Jim, and Dick, myself, the dark, and Sasquatch are to blame.
© 2011, Chris Mortensen
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted
without the author's written permission.
Chris comments:
This poem is loosely based on a prank one of my friends pulled years
ago. I wasn't there, but after hearing about it, I decided it would make
good cowboy poetry material. My grandkids love to watch "Finding
Bigfoot" on Animal Planet. Whatever your personal view, the question of
the existence of Sasquatch does make for interesting campfire
discussions. And, as described in the first few lines, most folks' level
of skepticism decreases in direct proportion to the security level of
their camping quarters.
About Chris Mortensen:
2010
Chris Mortensen is a singer/songwriter/cowboy poet, from Avon,
Utah (South Canyon). He has played bass and acoustic guitar in many
bands over the years. In 1989, his band, Diamondback, won the True Value
Country Showdown for the state of Utah.
Chris has written over 50
original songs, and has recorded 3 CDs on a digital workstation at home.
His music can be heard
here
at broadjam.com.
Chris currently does solo
gigs at cowboy gatherings, performs in a duo, Saddle Serenade, and plays
bass in a local Celtic band, Cuhulain.
Chris has been married to
his lovely wife, Paulette, for 37 years, has 3 children, 5
grandchildren, 3 horses, and a yellow lab and a cat. If interested in
CDs, his email address is cwmort@msn.com
or cwmort1@dishmail.net.
Chris Mortensen and Dale Major
collaborated on Dale Major's "Analog Cowboy (in a digital world)" in an
entertaining music video available
here on YouTube. The video, which stars
locals and cowboys, includes the disclaimer, "No
animals OR cowboys were harmed in the making of this film..."
