The Ritual Of Spring
Many things have changed
Quite a lot the last few years.
But one thing remains to let us know,
Summer is almost here.
Out on the ranches, divided by barb wire,
The neighbors get together and light the branding fire.
A ritual of spring,
For old and young to share,
Cause there's nothing like good company,
And the smell of burning hair.
They all come out of the wood work,
Put together a pretty big crew,
All the old men, little kids,
The women would all come too.
As the girls went to the house,
To put together a feast for kings,
The men and kids would all go,
And do their branding things.
The cattle would be gathered,
Pushed in a corner by a gate,
Held there by riders,
calves nervously waiting their fate.
Ropers would ride in,
Rope a calf by the two hind feet,
Drag it out to the fire,
Where two wrestlers he would meet.
Smoke filled the morning air,
Cause a wood fire kept the irons hot,
This was back in the old days,
Before the propane branding pot.
All the little kids would be roasting,
Calf fries on a stick.
Nowdays ranchers have found,
That a rubber band can do the trick.
Used to have to dehorn,
Nearly every calf in the herd,
Now most have all gone polled,
New genetics is the word.
When the work was all done,
The last calf got his scar,
Then would start the card game,
Played on the hood of a car.
The women then would holler,
That dinner now is done,
The card game would disappear,
Not knowing who had won.
After everyone had eaten
Enough to last for days,
The branding crew would get up,
Be back upon their way,
Once again back to branding,
But at a slower pace,
Workers just can't keep up,
The way they stuffed their face.
When the last bunch was finished,
Everything on that ranch was done,
Out would come the card game,
Till there was very little sun.
Next day it would start over,
On the next ranch down the lane,
On the western ranches
One ritual still remains.
Many things have changed
Quite a lot the last few years.
But one thing remains to let us know,
Summer is almost here.
Out on the ranches, divided by barb wire,
The neighbors get together and light the branding fire.
A ritual of spring,
For old and young to share,
Cause there's nothing like good company,
And the smell of burning hair.
They all come out of the wood work,
Put together a pretty big crew,
All the old men, little kids,
The women would all come too.
As the girls went to the house,
To put together a feast for kings,
The men and kids would all go,
And do their branding things.
The cattle would be gathered,
Pushed in a corner by a gate,
Held there by riders,
calves nervously waiting their fate.
Ropers would ride in,
Rope a calf by the two hind feet,
Drag it out to the fire,
Where two wrestlers he would meet.
Smoke filled the morning air,
Cause a wood fire kept the irons hot,
This was back in the old days,
Before the propane branding pot.
All the little kids would be roasting,
Calf fries on a stick.
Nowdays ranchers have found,
That a rubber band can do the trick.
Used to have to dehorn,
Nearly every calf in the herd,
Now most have all gone polled,
New genetics is the word.
When the work was all done,
The last calf got his scar,
Then would start the card game,
Played on the hood of a car.
The women then would holler,
That dinner now is done,
The card game would disappear,
Not knowing who had won.
After everyone had eaten
Enough to last for days,
The branding crew would get up,
Be back upon their way,
Once again back to branding,
But at a slower pace,
Workers just can't keep up,
The way they stuffed their face.
When the last bunch was finished,
Everything on that ranch was done,
Out would come the card game,
Till there was very little sun.
Next day it would start over,
On the next ranch down the lane,
On the western ranches
One ritual still remains.
