CHOPO Through rocky arroyas so dark and so deep, Down the sides of the mountains so slippery and steep,-- You've good judgment, sure-footed, wherever you go, You're a safety conveyance, my little Chopo. Refrain:-- Chopo, my pony, Chopo, my pride, Chopo, my amigo, Chopo I will ride. From Mexico's borders 'cross Texas' Llano To the salt Pecos River, I ride you, Chopo. Whether single or double or in the lead of the team, Over highways or byways or crossing a stream,-- You're always in fix and willing to go, Whenever you're called on, my chico Chopo. You're a good roping horse, you were never jerked down, When tied to a steer, you will circle him round; Let him once cross the string and over he'll go,-- You sabe the business, my cow-horse, Chopo. One day on the Llano a hailstorm began, The herds were stampeded, the horses all ran, The lightning it glittered, a cyclone did blow, But you faced the sweet music, my little Chopo. TOP HAND While you're all so frisky I'll sing a little song,-- Think a little horn of whiskey will help the thing along? It's all about the Top Hand, when he busted flat Bummin' round the town, in his Mexican hat. He's laid up all winter, and his pocket book is flat, His clothes are all tatters, but he don't mind that. See him in town with a crowd that he knows, Rollin' cigarettes and smokin' through his nose. First thing he tells you, he owns a certain brand,-- Leads you to think he is a daisy hand; Next thing he tells you 'bout his trip up the trail, All the way to Kansas, to finish out his tale. Put him on a hoss, he's a handy hand to work; Put him in the brandin'-pen, he's dead sure to shirk. With his natural leaf tobacco in the pockets of his vest He'll tell you his California pants are the best. He's handled lots of cattle, hasn't any fears, Can draw his sixty dollars for the balance of his years. Put him on herd, he's a-cussin' all day; Anything he tries, it's sure to get away. When you have a round-up, he tells it all about He's goin' to do the cuttin' an' you can't keep him out. If anything goes wrong, he lays it on the screws, Says the lazy devils were tryin' to take a snooze. When he meets a greener he ain't afraid to rig, Stands him on a chuck box and makes him dance a jig,-- Waves a loaded cutter, makes him sing and shout,-- He's a regular Ben Thompson when the boss ain't about. When the boss ain't about he leaves his leggins in camp, He swears a man who wears them is worse than a tramp. Says he's not carin' for the wages he earns, For Dad's rich in Texas,--got wagon loads to burn; But when he goes to town, he's sure to take it in, He's always been dreaded wherever he's been. He rides a fancy horse, he's a favorite man, Can get more credit than a common waddie can.