If Rockstars Were Ranch Wives…
If rockstars were ranch wives they’d wear faded jeans
And old ragged chore coats all frayed at the seams,
With rocks in the pockets, and old rusty nails
And fence lips and staples, and old horses’ tails.
If rockstars were ranch wives their boots would be slick
With gumbo that stuck when they waded the creek
To rescue a calf that had got himself stuck
And whose ma was too brainless to coax him back up.
If rockstars were ranch wives they’d live on cold beans
And meat and potatoes—and coffee—and cream!
They’d make the best goulash and Slumgullion Stew,
And you’d know that there’d always be food for the crew.
If rockstars were ranch wives they’d sing with the birds
And whistle at meadowlarks while checking the herd.
They’d talk to their horses and coax a bum calf
And cradle a child up close in their lap.
If rockstars were ranch wives their hair would be gray,
Their brows would be furrowed; they’d know how to pray,
For mere human effort will always run out
In the face of a fire or a blizzard or drought.
If you know a ranch wife who’s down in a slump
With no pep in her step (yeah, she’s kind of a grump!)
There’s bills to be paid and the taxes are due—
Her wash machine’s broke and her kids have the flu…
The cattle got out so there’s fence that needs fixin’
(and the new heeler pup just ate one of her chickens…)
If you’re scratching your head how to cheer her back up
I’ll tell you a trick that will perk her right up:
Go out to the pasture and pick her a rose,
For ranch wives are rockstars, as everyone knows!
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