TYIN KNOTS IN THE DEVIL'S TAIL 
(Gail Gardner) 

Way high up in the Sierry Petes
Where the yellow-jack pines grow tall, 
Old Sandy Bob and Buster Jiggs
Had a round-up camp last fall. 

Well they took their horses and their running irons 
And maybe a dog or two, 
And they 'lowed thy'd brand every long-eared calf 
That came within their view. 

Now every little long-eared dogie 
That didn't hush up by day, 
Got his long ears whittled and his old hide scorched 
In a most artistic way. 

One fine day, says Buster Jiggs, 
As he throws his seago down, 
"I'm tired of cow-pie-graphy 
And I think I'm a goin' town." 

Well they saddled up, and they hit a lope 
For it wasn't much of a ride, 
And them was the days that an old cow-hand
Could oil up his old insides. 

Well they starts her out at the Kaintuck Bar, 
At the head of the Whisky Row, 
And they wound her up at the Depot House 
About forty drinks below. 

Well they sets 'em up and they turns around 
And they goes the other way, 
And to tell you the Lord-forsaken truth 
Them boys got drunk that day. 

They was on their way, goin' back to camp 
A-packin' that awful load, 
When who should they meet but the Devil himself 
Come a-prancin' down the road. 

Now the Devil he says, "You cowboy skunks 
You better hunt your hole, 
'Cause I've come up from Hell's rim rock 
Just to gather in your souls. 

Says Buster Jiggs, "We're back from town,"
"And feelin kinda tight; 
But you ain't gonna get  no cowboys' souls 
Without some kinda fight." 

Now Buster Jiggs could ride like hell 
And throw a lasso, too, 
So he threw it over the Devil's horns 
And he took his dallies true. 

Now Sandy Bob was a reata man 
With his gut-line coiled up neat; 
But he shook her out and he builds a loop 
And he roped the Devils hind feet. 

Well they stretches him out and they tails him down 
While the irons were getting hot, 
And they cropped and swallow-forked his ears 
And they branded him up a lot. 

Well they pruned him up with a dehorning saw,
Tied knots in his tail for a joke, 
Then they went off and left him there 
Tied up to a blackjack oak. 

Now when you're high in the Sierry Peaks 
And you hear one hell of a wail, 
Well you know it ain't nothin but the Devil himself 
Raisin' Hell about the knots in his tail. 


These may not be the exact words that Mr. Gardner 
wrote, but this is how I learned it.

Whiskey Row still exists in Prescott, Arizona, and is
a fine place on the Fourth of July.