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Hotel County Island

18 Sep

I done made up a song about when I first came to live on the County Island for y’all, incorporatin my new vocabulary word, which I overheard the bucket gal say, called “hotel,” which is another way to say a barn. Usually I guess it’s a fancy barn for people, but all the County Island barns seem right fancy compared to what I had back at the ranch, so, well, with no further ado, here’s my song.

Welcome to the Hotel County Island

Ridin in a rollin horse-box, warm breeze on this nag

Fresh scent of sweet grass hay in a fancy feed bag

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a confoundin sight

It was a strange little ranch that had no cows

But we was stoppin there, alright.

There she stood with my lead rope

And somethin called a “cookie”

And I was thinkin to myself,

This here cowgirl is a real rookie.

Then she clucked and she led me, and she showed me more hay.

There were horses nickerin in the barns,

I thought I heard them neigh

Welcome to the Hotel County Island.

Such a prancey place. (such a prancey place)

Why the long face?

Plenty of stalls at the Hotel County Island.

Any time of year (any time of year)

You can ride us here.

They got carrots and apples, they got cookies and grain,

They got a whole lot of sugary snacks, but I ain’t seen a beer yet.

How they prance in the arena — you call that breakin a sweat?

Some jump sticks called cross-rails, some jump spreads whose name I forget.

So I neighed to my neighbor,

“When do we go work the cattle?”

Coors said, “There haven’t been any bovines here since 1869.”

And still those horses are whinnyin from far away

Wake you up in the middle of a nap

Just to hear them neigh

Welcome to the Hotel County Island.

Such a prancey place. (such a prancey place)

Why the long face?

Plenty of stalls at the Hotel County Island.

Any time of year (any time of year)

You can ride us here.

Mirrors in the arena,

Leg wraps kept on ice,

And Coors said, “We are all just pleasure horses here – try not to get a stable vice.”

And snug in our stall-pens,

We all wait for our feasts,

We strike the walls with our steely hooves

to tell the people we’re all starvin, overworked beasts.

Last thing I remember, I was

Nappin in the sand.

I had the whole rest of the day to nap, like I’d done the day before.

“Relax,” I said to myself, “Self, you ain’t got to work no more.

Life here on the County Island is grand,

and I ain’t never gonna leave!”

Welcome to the Hotel County Island

Such a prancey place. (such a prancey place)

Why the long face?

Plenty of stalls at the Hotel County Island.

Any time of year (any time of year)

You can ride us here.

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Posted by on September 18, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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