OH, the last steer has been branded And the last beef has been shipped, And I'm free to roam the prairies That the round-up crew has stripped; I'm free to think of Susie,— Fairer than the stars above,— She's the waitress at the station And she is my turtle dove. Biscuit-shootin' Susie,— She's got us roped and tied; Sober men or woozy Look on her with pride. Susie's strong and able, And not a one gits rash When she waits on the table And superintends the hash. Oh, I sometimes think I'm locoed An' jes fit fer herdin' sheep, 'Cause I only think of Susie When I'm wakin' or I'm sleep. I'm wearin' Cupid's hobbles, An' I'm tied to Love's stake-pin, And when my heart was branded The irons sunk deep in. Chorus: — I take my saddle, Sundays,— The one with inlaid flaps,— And don my new sombrero And my white angora chaps; Then I take a bronc for Susie And she leaves her pots and pans And we figure out our future And talk o'er our homestead plans. Chorus: — | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: LAMBERT HUTCHINS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE by CLAUDE MCKAY PORTRAIT OF ONE DEAD by CONRAD AIKEN LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH O DREAMS, O DESTINATIONS by CECIL DAY LEWIS ON A TUFT OF GRASS by EMMA LAZARUS |