a deso rangers life is as jolly as can be
like George Bradley‘s fellows – happy go lucky
jolly as can be just like the rat
only more like huck finn up on his raft
we punch no time clock
nor tie our boats to a dock
we boatman dance
and we flip flop ranch
we fix trailer springs
and buy wedding rings
we clean the shit houses
we catch the damn mouses
we tear out the floor
then get cursed by the whore
we make oars not squeak
we curse a blue streak
a deso rangers life is a jolly good reason
to come back to this shit season after season
the BLM gives us no course on DOI learn
to quickly click through a certificate to earn
a certificate to cope with the office in town
the droids will retire with hearts still un-found
we’ll wait them out at the cost of some sleep
cause no one else will before the ranger boat sinks
we load our truck then drive to Sandwash
on Tuesday night before they look
looking for whiskey – the bishop hopes he does find
his law has been blessed by the angel moroni
we plan and we shop the beans and the stew
then heat it and mix it and feed it to a crew
a crew we do feed – for it’s been determined a danger
to do a solo patrol as a deso ranger
we cuss the three’s we’ve not seen for days
then drink the beer they said we can’t take
we sleep in the dirt cause that’s where we’re home
here where it matters; our epitome
morning sun in July the heat that it brings
happy to discover the cool of the stream
we fix our tents, and boats, some elbow joints
each other with grogg on Tuesday night
we wear out shoulders, and curse the dumb luck
that we didn’t swim when we fucked that last one up
the wind at low water, not an inch is free
the boaters slap bugs that they swear they see
another day in the sun is done at dusk, not before
a pad made by paco is our bed on the shore
the ribbon of stars are above, they help us sleep sound
between the walls that saw the Major float down
we’re out here in the sun and the bugs and the space
not a better place to parking lot officiate
a deso rangers life is as jolly as can be
like George Bradley ‘s fellows – happy go lucky
jolly as can be just like the rat
only more like huck finn up on his raft
we punch no time clock
nor tie our boats to a dock
we boatman dance
and we flip flop ranch
we fix trailer springs
and buy wedding rings
we clean the shit houses
we catch the damn mouses
we tear out the floor
then get cursed by the whore
we make oars not squeak
we curse a blue streak
a deso rangers life is a jolly good reason
to come back to this shit season after season
like George Bradley‘s fellows – happy go lucky
jolly as can be just like the rat
only more like huck finn up on his raft
we punch no time clock
nor tie our boats to a dock
we boatman dance
and we flip flop ranch
we fix trailer springs
and buy wedding rings
we clean the shit houses
we catch the damn mouses
we tear out the floor
then get cursed by the whore
we make oars not squeak
we curse a blue streak
a deso rangers life is a jolly good reason
to come back to this shit season after season
the BLM gives us no course on DOI learn
to quickly click through a certificate to earn
a certificate to cope with the office in town
the droids will retire with hearts still un-found
we’ll wait them out at the cost of some sleep
cause no one else will before the ranger boat sinks
we load our truck then drive to Sandwash
on Tuesday night before they look
looking for whiskey – the bishop hopes he does find
his law has been blessed by the angel moroni
we plan and we shop the beans and the stew
then heat it and mix it and feed it to a crew
a crew we do feed – for it’s been determined a danger
to do a solo patrol as a deso ranger
we cuss the three’s we’ve not seen for days
then drink the beer they said we can’t take
we sleep in the dirt cause that’s where we’re home
here where it matters; our epitome
morning sun in July the heat that it brings
happy to discover the cool of the stream
we fix our tents, and boats, some elbow joints
each other with grogg on Tuesday night
we wear out shoulders, and curse the dumb luck
that we didn’t swim when we fucked that last one up
the wind at low water, not an inch is free
the boaters slap bugs that they swear they see
another day in the sun is done at dusk, not before
a pad made by paco is our bed on the shore
the ribbon of stars are above, they help us sleep sound
between the walls that saw the Major float down
we’re out here in the sun and the bugs and the space
not a better place to parking lot officiate
a deso rangers life is as jolly as can be
like George Bradley ‘s fellows – happy go lucky
jolly as can be just like the rat
only more like huck finn up on his raft
we punch no time clock
nor tie our boats to a dock
we boatman dance
and we flip flop ranch
we fix trailer springs
and buy wedding rings
we clean the shit houses
we catch the damn mouses
we tear out the floor
then get cursed by the whore
we make oars not squeak
we curse a blue streak
a deso rangers life is a jolly good reason
to come back to this shit season after season
You forgot, or intentionally negated, the hobo part. "The river is our rail, the plastic is our car, jumping off the train, will give but bumps and bruises, but going overboard, will surely cause refrain. For a rangers life is simple, once out of town and flowing down that artery of life, just as the hobo listens to the wail of that monster engine, the ranger in his stead just awaits and heeds that silence only a desert river brings. Hobos forever.
ReplyDeleteThoughtful, endless, hilarious, perceptive. Embedded with jewels as is the day in the life of a ranger, I'll suppose. Thank you, Mick!!
ReplyDelete