WESTERN RHYMES: FIDDLES 'N VITTLES

FORT WHAT IT'S WORTH

A feller said: "There's somethin' happenin' here"

It's that old stockyard steer

There's a man with a bun over there

Tellin' him he better beware

I guess we'd better shop

Children, gather 'round

Everybody come, let's go to town

There's cooking fires being made

Barbecue grills and a man with a blade

Speakers pumping Cowtown tunes

Gettin' so much rhythm from the man with spoons

Time to shop

Hey, gather 'round

Everybody come, let's go to town

What a field day for good meat

A thousand people in the street

Singing songs and ready to eat

Mostly Cowtown tourist elite

It's time we shop

Hey, gather 'round

Everybody come, let's go to town

Paranoia strikes deep

Into the steer it will creep

It starts when he first sees the blade

Suddenly, he's standing on the scales being weighed

We better shop

Hey, gather 'round

Everybody come, let's go to town

It's party time in the streets

People dancin' to the beat

Cowtown boogie, food, beer and fun

Just step in line for Barbecue'd beef on a bun

We better shop

Hey, gather 'round

Everybody come, let's go to town

We better shop

Hey, gather 'round

Everybody come, let's go to town

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BUCKAROO BARBECUE

Now, Cooky never wore an apron.
"Cookin' chaps" is what he had on.
Don't ever say that other name,
Unless you wanna walk lame.

And don't call it chuck or chow.
It ain't grub or fixins no how.
Cooky ain't gonna ring the dinner bell for you.
He just announces time for "Buckaroo Barbecue."

I remember once when ol' Bill came in late.
Said:"hey fellers, whatta we hittin' on for bait?"
Cooky handed him some beans on a plate -
His special plate with holes that numbered eight.

Well, they was just some tiny little holes,
Some little defect, I suspect, from the molds.
But Cooky kept that plate hid from the rest,
Just so's he could give a feller a good test.

All you had to do was make a complaint,
Or even just an off-hand remark without restraint.
You'd be settin' yersef up for retaliation,
And thar ain't nothin' wors than Cooky's damnation.

Now, that special plate that I done mentioned,
Well, it had no way to provide liquid retention.
And Cooky's beans were always juicy,
Ending up on Bill's lap, profusely.

What we didn't know, was the addition.
Cooky heaped on the sugar (for nutrition).
Bill even said, they tasted extra good -
Might be the best ever made, in all likelihood.

Well, Bill never knew the exact reason why,
He always had a swarm of flies.
Swattin' and wavin' his hat like a madman.
All the while, Cooky just grinnin' like a con man.

Several weeks later we had a thunderstorm
The likes of which were well beyond the norm
Most of the supplies warshed down the crick
And you ain't never seen a crew get hungry so quick

Well, after the third day with no eats,
Cooky told Bill to take off his chaps and take a seat.
Then he threw those chaps into the cook pot.
Before we knew it, he was wearin' his formal ascot.

"Buckaroo Barbecue is served, gents," he said,
As he handed each a plate of bean juice and bread.
But that weren't it at all; just little pieces of chap leather.
Still, it was the best meal on the plains, considering the weather.

© 2026 Brian McNeal

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HARDTACK

Imagine subsisting on nothing but dog biscuits,

And beef jerky all the way from Ft. Worth to Prescott.

That's just about accurate for old west cattle drives,

When food preservatives were most anything dried.

Sundays before prayer service it's flapjacks.

For celebrations and medications, it's applejack.

For weather forecastination it's the almanac.

But everyday, morning noon and night, it's hardtack.

Hardtack biscuits and rehydrated beans day in and day out.

Once in a while some meat, when deer were about.

Jerked beef they brought with them for as far as it would stretch,

And pollywogs in the bottom of the water barrel to make you retch.

Hardtack for a hard life somehow seems fitting.

For a cowboy who spent most of his time sitting -

In the saddle from sunup to when day is done,

Eating midday on the fly or most often, on the run

Breakfast, lunch and dinner - always the same.

Give it to Cooky for creativity to change the game.

Magical culinary delights like prairie strawberries,

And nightly entertainment from a one-book library

The book that told him how to make a new dish -

From the same old fixins so cowboys could get their wish.

The book he used for sittin' on - in the wagon seat -

To press a flower he found, for spices in the meat.

Realize the journey wasn't made in fifteen hours, like today.

But rather, more like fifteen weeks, if everything went ok.

No wonder there were forty saloons lined up down Whiskey Row.

Cowboys comin' off a long trail drive knew where to go.

Head for the Cabinet Saloon right off and don't look back.

Next, over to the Palace for another round, then down the track.

The loss of all a cowboy's hard-earned greenbacks -

Was the reward for three long months of hardtack.

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SMOKIN' BRISKET RHYME

A tasket, a tisket
Mesquite-smoked Texas brisket
Today I smoked it on the gril
And ate it with a biscuit
I smoked it, I smoked it
I cut the wood and smoked it
Very green Texas mesquite
Lit the fire, and I stoked it

I was watchin' close the temperature
A smokin' habit, that's for sure
I was smoke, smoke, smokin' on the town
A brisket with bark so brown
I ate it, I ate it
Mesquite-smoked Texas brisket
And if I want another bite
I think I'll try a tri-tip

Let 'er rip with pepper zip
I think I'll smoke a tri-tip
Bring it to me right away
I'll eat it with a corn chip
A corn chip, a corn chip
A blue and yellow corn chip
I'd like to eat it right away
But save it for the tri-tip

But should I prefer a soup du jour
Or Dr. Pepper while on tour
I'll be sip, sip, sippin' it on down
A side of fries golden brown
A tri-tip over brisket
In Texas, best not risk it
Golly gee, where can my tri-tip be
It was eaten by a midget

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RANGER STEW

Well, I'm mighty glad you spoke up when you did, Pard

A lot of folks has asked me to tell this here tale

So hold on to yur seats and try to stay in the yard

It ain't no "windy," this here's a full-blown gale

You asked about them little holes in the center of the carrots

You see this ain't no ordinary cuisine, 'cause it's fit for kings

This here is Ranger Stew, and we're privileged to eat it

So it ain't no accident there's a hole in them little orange rings

You see before you kin be included in the Ranger pool

You got to go to what them Eastern dudes calls an academy

Now that there's just a fancy word for highfalutin' school

It's where you learn to do them Ranger things with purpose and finality

First you takes a test-one of them two-letter kind they calls an "I" and a "Q"

Then you show 'em how much you know 'bout ridn' on back of a hoss

You gots to pass 'em all - ever one - like you already knew

Then, if yur the cream of the crop, you goes before the boss

He gives you all them firearms proficiency tests with rapid fire

You shoots at a bulls-eye or two and movin' badmen cut-outs by the score

They give all the same as the FBI, the CIA and all they required

And if you passes them all, and you thinks yur done, well, they give you one more

Now it ain't like you ain't good, but you got to be some bettern' the rest

You got to take all they can give and never lose your grip

'Cause a Ranger must be able to stack up bettern' the best

Sharpshooters, and deadeyes - phooey! Rangers shoot from the hip

The Boss man, he takes a little ol' carrot like this, and he flips it high in the air

It tosses end for end like a carnival ride when you can't even look

Then you just put a bullet clean through that carrot from end to end if you dare

And Pard, if you do, why you're just about good enough to be this outfit's cook

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TEXAS TRAFFIC TIE-UP

Two Texas ranchers met in the middle of the street

Pickups side by side as they discussed the price of meat

Soon cars started piling up behind each one

No one was mad, and soon, all joined in on the fun

Cars and Trucks backed up past four mailboxes

Prices of feed and the weather. Regular chatterboxes

Soon the guy with the smoker in back fired it up

Another with a cooler full of beer poped the tops

Every living, breathing soul was makin' the best

And no one ever even made a call to DPS

But they showed up anyway front and rear

With lights flashing they kept traffic clear

Uniformed officers munchin' down on BBQ

Forgoing the beer, they stuck to the Mountain Dew

No warnings given and no tickets ever written

It's a Texas thing when Ranchers and Rangers all fit in

Headlights all came on as the sun began to swoon

Someone's car speakers blasted two-steppin' dance tunes

Officially, the report said they came to investigate

What they found was simply a party on a Texas tailgate

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FEEDIN' THE CREW

A Cobbler, a Crumble, or a Crisp

A Betty, A Buckle, or Boy Bait

Boy howdy when time for Pandowdy

And Cooky was never late.

A Gunsel, or a Grunt after a meal

Even Cooky's famous Slump

A chuckwagon delight

Keeps everyone from becoming a grump

Prairie strawberries or range-jerked beef

Sage hens and rattlesnake stew

Cattledrive staples for noon and night

Cooky's recipe for a happy crew

Arbuckles coffee every morning

And maybe a biscuit with prickly pear jam

Irish oatmeal that Cooky brewed all night

Or flapjacks with molasses and wild yams

Cattledrive menus were cooky's delight

Once in a while a wild hog would give us some smoked ham

Cattle drovers eatin' high on the hog when finances is tight.

None went hungry 'cause Cooky never fed us Spam

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A MATTER OF TASTE

When I go to the cafe for a meal, I always look at the menu

There's no reason I should have to eat the same thing you do

The songs played on my radio station may not be to your liking

And the barber I use, may give you a cut a lot less striking

I've never seen a perfectly matched set of horns on a bull

No two sheep produce the same type of wool

Never any two feet the same on any horse I've rode

And no two miles are ever alike on any dirt backroad

I drink strong, black, coffee, and you prefer a cup of tea

I've got a brand-new pickup, and you're still drivin' that old jalopy

I've got a specially trained German Shepherd dog to guard

And you think a miniature Poodle is all you want in your yard

I'm an early riser most every day, up before the sun

You don't stop snoring until after my lunch is done

I put value in rocks and trees and mountains, millions of years old

While you spend and spend on stuff that is obsolete before it's sold

I'm an advocate for keeping the same time all year 'round

More light for the Summer evenings is the way your clock is wound

I keep my distance on the highway and never - ever tailgate

You think there's safety in numbers and always seem to be late

Yet, every chance you get, you tell the world that Medium Rare is the best

A medium or medium-well done steak is a kiss of death

I don't try to make you fit into a dress that is two sizes to small

So when it comes to steak, why do you still think "One Size Fits All?"

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SMALL WORDS MISHEARD

When Rambler was just learning,

He sometimes mixed up his yearning,

Not fully understanding, but hearing,

Gave him a distorted rearing.

We tried to correct whenever we knew,

But what he kept in his mind was skewed.

Some things just didn't seem deserving,

At least at the time they weren't unnerving

As he grew older, he grew out of such.

He no longer needed that childhood crutch.

So you'll have to laugh along with us now,

As you discover his distaste for a certain chow.

Since he was old enough to hold up a muck fork,

He was cleanin' stalls and learnin' ranch work.

That was his main chore, day in and day out,

And he knew exactly what it was all about.

Then one day grandma was makin' yogurt -

Much like brewin' beer and separating the wort.

Well, Rambler asked her what was on tap for the day,

And she just said she needed to separate the curd from the whey.

"Yuck", said Rambler with disgust,"and that's what you're making for lunch?"

Not quite getting his sour puss, she just said, she was making a bunch.

What she didn't know was his youthful misunderstandings were at play.

What he thought he heard was something he'd been doing everyday.

There was no way of convincing him of a delicate taste.

To him, it should have been nothing but a lot of waste.

He'd have nothing to do with it, and that's all he would say,

'Cause he knew what it meant to separate the turds from the hay.

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COOKIE'S SYMPHONIC ORCHESTRA

Cooky was widely known for his meals

Which consisted mostly of beans

Boy howdy, it'd get rowdy when they squeals

'Round the campfire with symphonic means

Nightly entertainment with Cooky's fifth and jokes

Takin' turns lettin' loose with tales and tunes

With a beat that can't be beat 'round any chuckwagon

And at breakfast time we'd do it again with prunes

Well, big Bill Stewart would usually start the show

With his bass bottom, then Sean McGee tootin' high

The windies were flyin' without really tryin' every night

Just as we'd finish one round, Pecos would let another fly

Cooky was our arranger and conductor on his opus

With tempo tapped out from a wooden spoon

He'd signal your turn to burn one in his chosen key

Our Cowboy Symphony was best on nights with a full moon

But it all changed one night when Cooky had a flash fire

Someone wanted the Dutch oven for percussion

Well you never seen such a roarin' blaze in all your days

As when they dumped those beans without discussion

Cooky tried to tell 'em not to be so hasty

As he sprinted over to attempt a bean pot deliverance

Before you know it, he was cussin' in Russian

And beatin' out the flames on his wings like Icarus

Well, with Cooky laid up and unable to perform culinary chores

The boss man found us a temporary cook from the institute

But she was a city vegetarian and that ain't agrarian

And we just weren't sure what to think of this gastronomy recruit

Our first supper was a grumbler from all hands

Lettuce bed with cold beans and somethin' she called Toe-foo

Sprinkled with grains from the plains and toasted buns

Being kind, we ate and sat 'round the fire to spit and chew

But to our surprise, our orchestra fired up right on time

Primed and tuned to perfect pitch for our nightly concert

What a gas for a lass from the city, we thought

But Cooky gave us the sign to hold the herd and keep her dignity unhurt

Oh how we suffered gastronomically without the toot

Holding back the wind like holdin' back the sun and rain

A lot of hands excusin' themselves and usin' the darkness

Returnin' to the fire only to get up and leave once again.

Lord help you fellers if your cook needs a sick leave

And hope he heals quick for your sake and your guts'

May be best for at least one of you to learn the cook's book

Just to keep your outfit from becoming the joke of all butts

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GRANDPA'S MENU

What's for dinner Grandpa?

Smoked ribs and corn on the cob -

Brined and cooked with husks on!

Yum! Yum!

A side of barbecue beans cooked real slow

Buttered biscuits with homemade jam

Eat your fill with pride and passion

...but save room for dessert with ...

Dutch-Oven Apple Pie, cowboy fashion

What's for dinner Grandpa?

Navajo Tacos, fresh and ready

Build your own from the bottom up

Indian fry bread, beans and cheese

Lettuce, tomato, sour cream

Avocado on the side with a squeeze of lime

... and for dessert ...

Key-lime pie with fresh whipped cream

Dinner is served, step right up, it's showtime

What's for dinner Grandpa?

Chili Verde from Hatch New Mexico

Cooked on an open fire, nice and slow

Shredded pork smoked on the pit

Added in, with spices to fit

Fresh homemade tortillas made by hand

Lemonade squeezed just today

Sweetened with wildflower honey

And for dessert, strawberry shortcake - Grandpa's way

What's for dinner Grandpa?

Cowboy fixins done the old way

Prairie oysters with whistle berries

Sourdough biscuits from the Dutch-Oven

Buttered with bacon grease as you like

Have a second helping, plenty to go 'round

Strong black coffee to warsh it down

But save some room for dessert

Apple streusel cobbler, still warm and golden brown.

Yum! Yum!

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SIAMESE FRUIT

Siamese fruit connected at the derriere

Pick it and sell it at the farmer's fair

Mooned by the fruit on the tree

Re-mooned at the market for free

Conjoined twins with one seed or two

Discovered only after you chew

Nevermind the humorous appearance

It's just nature's comical interferance

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FIDDLES 'N VITTLES

WESTERN RHYMES

Contact BRIAN McNEAL