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I was born full growed with nine rows of jaw teeth and holes bored for more. There was spurs on my feet and a rawhide quirt in my hand, and when they opens the chute I come out a-riding a panther and a-roping the long-horned whales. I’ve rode everything with hair on it… and I’ve rode a few things that was too rough to grow any hair.

I’ve rode bull moose on the prod, she grizzlies and long bolts of lightning. Mountain lions are my playmates,
and when I feels cold and lonesome, I sleeps in a den of rattlesnakes ’cause they always makes me nice and warm.

To keep alive I eat stick dynamite and cactus. The Grand Canyon ain’t nothin’ but my bean hole. When I get thirsty I drink cyanide cut with alkali. When I go to sleep I pillow my head on the Big Horn, I lay my boots in Colorada and my hat in Montana. I can stretch out my arms clean out from the Crazy Woman Folk plumb over to the Upper Grey Bull River. My bed tarp covers half of Texas and all of old Mexico.

But there’s one thing for sure and certain, and if you boys wants to know, I’ll tell you that I’m still a long way short of being the daddy of ’em all…’cause he’s full growed, and as any man that really knows can see—well, boys, I ain’t nothing but a young ‘un.