Ten Thousand Cattle Straying (Dead Broke)

Ten thousand cattle straying,
They quit my range and travell’d away,
And it’s “sons-of-guns” is what I say,
I am dead broke, dead broke this day.
Dead broke.

Ten thousand cattle straying,
They quit my range and travell’d away,
And it’s “sons-of-guns” is what I say,
I am dead broke, dead broke this day.
Dead broke.

Chorus:
In gambling hells delaying
Ten thousand cattle straying
And it’s “sons-of-guns” is what I say
They’ve rustled my pile, my pile away.

My girl she has went straying,
She quit me, too, and travell’d away,
With a “son-of-o-gun” from Ioway,
I’m a lone man, lone man this day.
Dead broke.

So I’ve took card playing,
I deal the decks but it don’t seem to pay,
And it’s “son-of-a gunner” I get each day,
And nothing will come, will come my way.
Dead broke.

My luck has gone straying,
I make no strike by night or day,
But it’s “sons-of-guns” I still will say,
For I’m in the game, the game to stay.
Dead broke.

Owen Wister, 1888, author

(photo of Rachel Marie Dennis, one of DDH’s site owners in Moab Utah…literally chasing some cows)