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Buckaroo
Boy of the Bronx
Copyright © 2003, Michael S. Robinson
I was born in the city, and
found nothin' more pretty
Than the tune of the taxicab honks,
But the films of John Wayne must've transformed my brain
To the buckaroo boy of the Bronx.
With a scarf 'neath my chin, I'd mount up, on my Schwinn,
Dressed in Levis, tall Stetson, and chaps.
For the life of a friend, I'd defend, to the end,
With my little chrome six-gun and caps.
Though I never went west, never rode with the best,
Deep inside, is a cowboy's heart still.
Sing an' play my guitar, as my mind wanders, far
From my songs, at the Bronx Bar and Grill.
I had friends, who were sure they'd be heroes of war
Or be stars on a great baseball team,
But I knew, in my heart, like John Wayne, from the start,
That cowboyin' was my only dream.
But I had no guitar, and the West was so far,
Where the skies are not cloudy all day,
So I sold my ol' bike to a schoolmate, named Ike.
Bought a Gibson, and learned how to play.
Though I never went west, never rode with the best,
Deep inside, is a cowboy's heart still.
Sing an' play my guitar, as my mind wanders, far
From my songs, at the Bronx Bar and Grill.
When I think what life dished, though I dreamed and I wished,
I know, deep in my heart, there's a pain.
As the Bronx moonlight beams, come my childhood dreams
Of the herd and my ranch on the plains.
Well I'll just have to cope, without saddle or rope,
And imagine the sweat on the reins,
As a bronco's a buckin', and just keep on truckin',
A singin' those cowboy refrains.
Though I never went west, never rode with the best,
Deep inside, is a cowboy's heart still.
Sing an' play my guitar, as my mind wanders, far
From my songs, at the Bronx Bar and Grill.
Sing an' play my guitar, in these cheap honky tonks.
I'm still the buckaroo boy of the Bronx.
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