‘Twas Christmas Eve in Saratoga, when all ‘cross th’ ranch,
Not one critter was stirrin’, not even a branch;
Th’ boot-socks were hung from barbed wire with care,
In hopes that th’ tops this year would not tear;
Th’ kids were all tucked up like cows in a shed,
While dreamin’ of baked goods like cookies and bread;
Mom hung up her Stetson by my worn Resistol,
Took off boots, jeans and belts then in bed we did fall,
When out by th’ barn there was all sorts of clangin’
We jumped up right quick to see what was a bangin’.
Grabbed up our rifles and dressed quick like hustlers,
Grabbed ammo ‘n’ shotguns case it was rustlers.
|Moon glow on tin roof shined by sand blowin’ hard
Gave enough light for seein’ and showed th’ farmyard,We ‘uns concluded we was a seein’ thangs
Like, an old worn-out stagecoach pulled by eight green-broke mustangs,
With a great big ol’ driver, who held a tight rein,
Much faster than bullets his horses sure came,
“Now Pitchfork! now Pickup! now, Chisum and Duke!
Right over th’ leech field! and on past th’ well pump
Like tumbleweeds scurry when tornadoes whirl by,
Yep, up to th’ rooftop them horses strivin’,
In just a short moment we heard on th’ roof
As we threw on our hats, and were heading downstairs,
Was dressed like a sheriff, from his hat to his boots,
|Saddle bag of toys he had flung ‘cross his back,
and small things stuffed in pockets too much for his pack.His eyes how they squinted! his pistol how gleamin’!
His badge was all shiny, his neck scarf tied streamin’!
His shirt unbuttoned, with th’ flap hanging down
His rifle he held onto tight in his hand,
He had broad shoulders which carried quite a load in
He was handsome and tall, a legend come to life,
Him winkin’ at Mom and a noddin’ his head
He drawled a few words, but he mostly just worked,
And waving his hand in gesture well known,
He sprang to his coach, toward his team the whip cracked,
But we all heard him shout, as he started to go,