[Martin Elster]

An Outfit for Life in the Wilderness

You might live out of doors all day and night,
And herd the cattle till your thighs feel tight
As a rope round a longhorn’s throat, dog-tired with joy.
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You may sport Levi’s jeans, fur chaps, a vest,
Wool shirt, bandanna, ride across the West
Like wind across the Plains, eat beef or soy.
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You may work as a wrangler tendin’ horses
Or battle bulls with their far-out brute forces,
A pro at brandin’ — far from a hobbledehoy.
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You might not have a clue what you would do
Not hearin’ every Hereford’s mournful moo
(A tuba crossed with a woebegone hautbois).
No Stetson, though? You ain’t the real McCoy.

You might be self-dependent, honest, holster
A six gun for protection or to bolster
Your ego; still, it’s no more than a toy
If you’ve no hat. You ain’t the real McCoy!

Whether you ride a horse or drive a pickup
Or risk your neck in rodeos and kick up
A field of dust, cheered by the hoi polloi ...
No Stetson? Nope! You ain’t the real McCoy.