Colter Wall – Sierry Petes (Guitar)

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[Verse]

G
Way high up in the Sierry Petes

                            D
Where the yeller pines grow tall,

Rusty Diggs and Sandy Bob

                      G
Had a rodeo camp last fall.

Well they taken their ponies and their running irons

                     C
And a-maybe a dog or two,

          D
And they 'lowed they’d brand every long-eared calf

                       G
That come within their view.

Now any old dogie that flapped long ears

                       D
And didn't bush up by day,

Had his long ears whittled and his old hide sizzled

                   G
In a most artistic way.

Then says Rusty Diggs to Sandy Bob,

                        C
As he throwed his seago down,

     D
"I'm tired of cow-pyrography

                          G
And I rise I'm a goin' to town."

So he saddles up, and he hits some lope

                             D
For it weren’t no sight of a ride,

Them was the days when an old cow-punch

                       G
Could oil up his dry insides.

Well he starts her in at the Kentucky Bar,

                          C
At the head of the Whisky Row,

         D
And they ends her up at the Depot House

                    G
Some forty drinks below.

And he winds her up and they turns around

                            D
And they goes her the other way,

To tell you the Lord’s forsaken truth

                          G
Them boys got stewed that day.

As they was a heading back to camp

                          D
And packin' a pretty good load,

Who should they meet but the Devil himself

                         G
Come a-prancin' down the road.

And the Devil he said, “You cowboy skunks,

                        C
You better go hunt your holes,

       D
'Cause I've come up from Hell's rim rocks

                       G
Just to gather in your souls.”

Well Rusty Diggs said, “Devil be damned,"

                   D
"And I know I’m pretty tight;

No Devil never took no ol’ cowpunch

                    G
Without one helluva fight."

He Builds him a hole with his ol’ throw rope

                              D
And he swang her straight and true,

he lapped it onto the Devil’s horns,

                      G
and taken his dallies too.

Now Sandy Bob was a reata man

                            C
With his gut-line coiled up neat;

   D
He shakes her out and he builds him a loop

                                G
And he lassoed the Devil’s hind feet.

Well he throwed him down on the desert ground

                             D
While the iron was a-gettin’ hot,

They cropped and swaller-forked his ears,

                          G
And they branded him up a lot.

They pruned him up with a dehorning saw

                             C
Tied knots in his tail for a joke,

D
Tied off and left him bellerin’ there

                           G
Knicked up to a black-jack oak.

So if you’re ever up in the Sierry Petes

                           D
And you hear one hell of a wail,

You’ll know it's that Devil a-bellerin' around

                            G
About the knots ties in his tail.