He wore his best gray Bailey
Though it was a bit battered
His Saturday night denim shirt
The sleeves just slightly tattered.

His jeans were tucked in knee highs
The boots hand made and tooled
He wore his spurs to this event
'Cause town folks think it's cool.

He swaggered to the microphone
And tipped his hat with flair
He announced to the crowd loudly
"This one's about Mary, so fair".

"Now, she was my true love"
"As refreshing as a western morn",
"I could love no other girl
"Pretty as any that was ever born".

"But in the end it could never work"
"Our love was forever damned"
"I'm a cowman, you see, my friends",
"And she always had that little lamb".

The crowd roars it's appreciation
And he bows low at the waist
"I've got more!" he bellows
Not one to leave the spotlight in haste.

For the next hour he recites
Tales of guns, horses and fights
And makes the sponsors reconsider
The idea of the open mike.

He left the stage to much fanfare
And reveled in the new found fame
Certain that all that attended that night
Would remember his family name.

He got in his pickup to take his leave
Knowing he had made an impression
The ladies were surely swooning
And the men battling depression.

"I'll be back", he vowed quietly
"I'm on a historic mission"
"The legend needs to stay alive
"And I tell of the cowboy tradition".