For Chip Chip`` a Mate

                            

FOR ‘CHIP-CHIP’ A MATE

No more the bronco harness, or the collar and the hames,

Now we have a cradle and a crush, nothing stays the same.

What are these monstrosities, where once a bronco panel stood?

Railway line and pipe, is nothing made of wood?

We had twisted wire cables, big snappy gum posts,

Oh so many memories, oh so many ghosts.

The bronco panel's busted and almost fallen down,

You'd never know it used to see, a thousand calves a round.

At Hughie Spring on the black soil plain where you couldn't see for dust,

The bronco yard has gone and the new one's, full of rust.

And often when we killed, you know we'd keep the hide

Cut out a strand, and twist a bronco rope with pride.

But where once we'd use a green hide rope, a welder's all you need.

The old days have all gone, and it's nothing to do with speed.

We'd do better than a calf a minute, with good men on the rope,

Brand, ear-mark, castrate, dehorn and never let ‘em choke,

Leg ropes front and back up against the panel tight,

Slack the call, pull 'em down, come on do it bloody right.

It was great in the early morning to see them branding irons glow,

Burnt into the hides forever, was the mighty ONE TEE OH.

Calves, bulls, mickeys and even cleanskin cows.

The old ways are all gone, look how they do it now.

I don't deny they get the job done, I don't deny they raise a sweat,

But of bronco panels and green hide ropes, old ringers dream I bet.

Pedro and old Alan, Chip-Chip the mighty mule,

Gee she'd pull her heart out, it was almost cruel.

The Rat, Toby, Euclid, Clancy and many more,

Chip-Chip was the best, though some call her a whore.

I've seen her snap a bronco rope, I've seen her on her knees,

I guess by now she's dead, but Lord I ask you please,

All those bronco horses, those titans of the past,

Give them green pasture, for they've earned peace at last.

 

Today they're branding calves with crush, cradle and all the rest,

I'm not real happy, for I remember ways I thought were best.

They say I'm yesterday's man, born a hundred years too late,

But the fact I've lived the past was a simple twist of fate.

So no more the bronco harness or the collar and the hames,

Time waits for no man; I guess nothing stays the same.

© Corin Linch