Nitwits are partial to wisdom
that’s usually corny and trite.
But the worst part of nitwit wisdom
is when the nitwit is right!
I’s ridin’ pasture for Brimhall,
checkin’ for bad eyes and such.
He’d hired this nitwit to help me.
He never did like me much.
“You can’t be good at everything.”
said Nitwit, missin’ the steer.
I had to agree that he wasn’t
good, that is, that much was clear
I chased the steer and caught his horns,
I dallied and then I spoke,
“You rope the hocks and we’ll stretch him out!”
He tried, but it was a joke.
“Here, set my horse and hold the head.”
We swapped and I roped the hind.
“Now, take back yer horse and hold the heels,
Don’t let no slack in yer twine!”
I got off to doctor the steer
and fished for my last syringe.
When a hoof lashed out and cracked my hand!
doubled my arm like a hinge!
I stabbed myself with the needle;
he kicked me under the chin
Then he rolled me off over backwards,
drivin’ the needle on in.
“Don’t let go of yer dally! Dang!”
His rope was floppin’ around.
The steer stepped outta the heel loop
and headed for higher ground.
“You sorry excuse for nothin!
You line-bred drizzlin’ dope!
I guess you saw he’s still draggin’
my brand new 40-foot rope.
“Yer dumber’n boiled gravel.
I told ya keep yer slack tight.
Now he’ll prob’ly die of pneumonia.”
we watched him flee outta sight.
“Well, look on the bright side,” said Nitwit,
his wisdom cut to the quick.
“The way that ol’ steer quit the country,
he couldn’t a been that sick.”