His days with the roundup
Was a year ago last April
When he rode into our camp
when he rode into our camp
On a little Texas pony he called Chaw
With his broken shoes and overalls,
You'd never in your life before had saw
His saddle was a Texas cag
An okay spur on one foot lightly swung
With his pack roll in a cotton sack
He said he had to leave his home,
his poor head, maybe twice
His new ma whipped him every day or two
So he saddled up old John one night
He said he'd try to paddle his own canoe
He said if we would give him work
he'd do the best he could
So the boss, cut him out a mount
He's sort of like this little kid somehow
He learned to wrangle horses
And learned to know them all
And get them any day break if he could
And to trail the old chuck wagon
And always hitch the team
And help the cook each evening,
We had hardly reached Topekos,
We were camped out on the south side
When a northern comest blowin'
and we doubled up our guards
It took every one of us to hold them in
was called out with the rest
Scarcely had the little fellow
When the cattle they stampeded
like a hailstorm on they fled
And everyone was riding for the lead
Amidst the shrieks of lightning,
there was one horse up ahead
He was trying to check the leaders
It was Little Joe the Wrangler
with a slicker o 'er his head
He was riding old Blue Rocket in the lead
At last we got them millin'
And the extra guards back
But there was one a -missin'
We could see it at a glance
Was our little Texas Trape
Next morning just at daybreak
We found where Rocket fell
Beneath his horse his life was gone
His spur hat wrong, it's Nell,
was our little Texas Tray,
