Wrangler

All you cowpokes gather round

The bangle, dangle, jangle sound

Of booted spurs that click the ground

As Wrangler saunters into town.

 

Pocket full of month-end cash,

Suited up and talking trash.

Lady-killer, unabashed,

Looming large with daring dash.

 

Does she see through his disguise?

The innocence behind those eyes

That beckons with hypnotic rise

To underscore the hidden prize.

 

Is our Wrangler more than play?

Will he own the ranch someday or

Is he simply molded clay?

Will he cling, or run away?