Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss
A frisky son of a gun
He loves to court the maidens
And he savies how it’s done.
He used to be a cowboy
And they say he wasn’t slow
He could ride the bucking bronco
And swing the long lasso.
He could catch a maverick by the head
Or heel him on the fly
He could pick up his front ones
Whenever he chose to try.
He used to ride most anything
Now he seldom will
He says they cut some caper in the air
Of which he’s got his fill.
He is done and quit the business
Settled down to quiet life
And he’s hunting for some maiden
Who will be his little wife.
One who will wash and patch his britches
And feed the setting hen
Mild old Blue and Brindy
And tend to baby Ben.
Then he’ll build a cozy cottage
And furnish it complete
He’ll decorate the walls inside
With pictures new and sweet.
He will leave off riding broncos
And be a different man
He will do his best to please his wife
In every way he can.
Then together in double harness
They will trot along down the line
Until death shall call them over
To a bright and sunny clime.
May your joys be then completed
And your sorrows have amend
Is the fondest wish of the writer
You true and faithful friend.