Wednesday, April 19, 2017


The Legend of Three Toed Bob

Bob ran the old chuck wagon

For the guys out on the trail
He cooked all day while they were away
And roped them back in with the smell.

Now, the boys, they all knew better

Than to inquire of Bob 'bout the fare
Cause Bob was a high strung and sensitive Yankee
And he sizzled and stewed with such care.

One hot day  Ole Daniel, the trail boss

Dared to embarrass Bob 'fore the bunch
And the very next day he was munching on hay
And had cactus and scorpion for lunch.

Stew was Bob's big specialty

Stew and a strange kind of bread
The men quietly ate and they all cleaned their plates
Though the grub, it went down just like lead.

Out on the drives, you're not picky

You eat what you get to survive
Bacon and beans and a soup full of strings
A pot roast made of stuff still alive.

Now Bob was a curious feller

Talked 'northern he did with no slang
He tried to rope steers after two or three beers
But of the sport, he could not get the hang.

Well, they say he was a butcher back east there

But was fired from each job that he found
Nearsighted, near blind, he'd leave pieces behind
Of his fingers and thumbs on the ground.

He couldn't cut meat too good with no digits

Though the Lord knows he tried hard to do it
He was forced to hold steaks with his toe then
And one day he, well, he cut right through it.

By the time he was fired, he had only three left

So he thought a career change was due
He hired himself out with a crew heading west
And now I'm singing his tale to you.

"Oh, Bob, oh, Bob, the three toed Yankee cook

Your stew is a legend and myth
We all love you so but what we wants to know
Is what do you hold your stew pots with??"

©by Voo
Oct 07

                    Lonesome Cowboy harmonica