Sky Ball Paint

(Bob Nolan)

Old Sky Ball Paint was a devil’s saint, his eyes were a fiery red.

Good men have tried this horse to ride

And all of them are dead.

Now I won’t brag but I rode this nag till his blood began to boil.

Then I hit the ground and I ate three pound

Of good old western soil.

Singin’ hi ho, whoopee ti yo,

Ride him high and down you go,

Sons of the western soil.

So I swore, by heck, I’d 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 he’s shy

Or he just don’t care for me.

Singin’ hi ho, whoopee ti yo,

Ride him high and down you go,

Sons of the western soil.

In town one day I chanced to stray upon old Cross-Eyed 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 Ball’s leather chair,

I’ll bet four bits when Sky Ball quits

That Jim will not be there.

Singin’ hi ho, whoopee ti yo,

Ride him high and down you go,

Sons of the western soil.