Dan Taylor is a rollicking cuss, A frisky son of a gun, He loves to court the maidens And he savies how it's done.
He used to be a cowboy And they say he wasn't slow, He could ride the bucking bronco And swing the long lasso.
He could catch a maverick by the head Or heel him on the fly, He could pick up his front ones Whenever he chose to try.
He used to ride most anything; Now he seldom will. He says they cut some caper in the air Of which he's got his fill.
He is done and quit the business, Settled down to quiet life, And he's hunting for some maiden Who will be his little wife,--
One who will wash and patch his britches And feed the setting hen, Milk old Blue and Brindy, And tend to baby Ben.
Then he'll build a cozy cottage And furnish it complete, He'll decorate the walls inside With pictures new and sweet.
He will leave off riding broncos And be a different man; He will do his best to please his wife In every way he can.
Then together in double harness They will trot along down the line, Until death shall call them over To a bright and sunny clime.
May your joys be then completed And your sorrows have amend, Is the fondest wish of the writer,-- Your true and faithful friend.