Another Parody Of An Old Western Theme Song
By Lou Blodgett
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When right was right and wrong was wrong,
and chaps were first the rage.
When the west was young,
in terms of geologic age.
He rode the trail with pluck and plumb
in the nineteenth century.
’Round 1880. Jeeze Louise!
Why the third degree?
They called him-
Pronto! Pronto! His spurs were never mute.
Pronto! Pronto! In his dashing cowboy suit.
He rode the bluffs from Butte,
to the sand down Tucson way.
Galloping from Gallup
to the bustling Salmon Bay.
He raced through the Mohave,
’neath his roomy Stetson hat.
Those who saw the dust cloud hollered:
“Who the hell is that?”
His name was-
Pronto! Pronto! Developed such a tan.
Pronto! Pronto! Quite the punctual man.
His mother called him “Buster”,
as they played hide and seek.
His teacher called him Homer
as they conjugated Greek.
His gal would call him “Sugar”
but used “Pronto” in the main.
On Thursday nights he headlined
as “Mimi LaFontaine”.
And also-
Pronto! Pronto! Always nearly there.
Pronto! Pronto! On “Destiny”, his mare.
He wasn’t one to follow
the sedentary call.
On the fly, no one knew why.
But Pronto had a ball.
He wasn’t one to set up shop
or lead the cows to graze.
He wasn’t William Randolph Hearst
or Rutherford B. Hayes.
No, he was-
Pronto! Pronto! Always on the run.
Pronto! Pronto! Our intrepid champion.
Few could say just what he did,
or if he charged a fee.
Why did he need to ride his steed
peripatetically?
As he lived, he met his end.
Blazing through the night.
The rattler who bit him queried:
“Who did I just bite?”
Well, it was-
Pronto! Pronto! Was one dynamic guy.
Pronto! Pronto! Now he’s traveling ’cross the sky.
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