Bob Nolan, Skyball Paint
Sons of the Pioneers, Song Folio #1
American Music, Inc., 1936
Who else learned this one at camp?
Old Sky Ball Paint was a devilís saint,
His eyes were a fiery red.
Good men have tried this horse to ride
And all of them are dead.
Now I wonít brag but I rode this nag
Till his blood began to boil.
Then I hit the ground and ate three pound
Of good old western soil.
Singiní hi ho, whoopee ti yo,
Ride him high and down you go,
Sons of the western soil.
I swore, by heck, Iíd break his neck
For the jolt he gave my pride.
I threw my noose on that old cayuse
And once more took a ride.
He turned around and soon I found
His head where his tail should be
So I sez, sez I, perhaps heís shy
Or he just donít care for me.
In town one day I chanced to stray
Upon old Sheriff Jim.
For a whoop and a holler and a counterfeit dollar
I sold the nag to him.
But when he plants the seat of his pants
In Sky Ballís leather chair,
Iíll bet four bits when Sky Ball quits
That Jim will not be there.