The Bransholme Cowboy.

It’s funny really but I thought poetry was just for ‘Arty Farty’ types (apologies to any Arty Farty types out there) and not a numbskull like me. How wrong I was! Turns out I’ve been really enjoying it here. So I wrote a few. I only ever intended to do a couple of small blogs…..

Like most Cities and towns here in the U.K, Hull has several estates (council houses or as they are called now, social housing) and Bransholme is the biggest. And like most estates it has its fair share of problems. Lots of good people and a few bad ones. We live a couple of miles away but it’s quite similar. You seem to get a lot of young men riding round on bicycles looking very furtive. I saw one gang awhile back. The one in front had a black baseball cap on and it made me think of all those old westerns, with the bad guy always wore a black Stetson….A gunslinger with a colt 45 in hand. Ready for trouble….So saddle up partners, let’s ride the range…Yeeehaaahhh!

THE BRANSHOLME COWBOY

He’s the Bransholme Cowboy,

The man with no name,

And he rides on the prairie,

On his rusty frame,

He’ll sell what you want,

His friends do the same,

Don’t fear the law,

Ahead of the game….

Dressed in black, tracky bottom,

Baseball cap, style forgotten,

Council chic,

On a stolen two wheeler,

Cash in his pocket,

A real stealer dealer,

Cos…..

He’s the Bransholme cowboy,

Hull’s own Johnny Ringo,

Gunslinger for hire,

Notorious gringo…..

Hombres come and go,

Dirty new flat,

Paper on windows,

Estates fattest cat,

With him and his posse,

They push and they feed,

To young and the old,

Whatever the need,

Cos….

He’s the Bransholme cowboy,

A small mister big,

No Havana’s for him,

Just a thin rolled up cig….

A wanted man”

The Marshall declares,

A lovable rogue”

His old mother swears,

Put away for two,

Be out in one,

Smirks going down,

The son of a gun,

Cos…..

He’s the Bransholme Cowboy,

With a fistful of cash,

Just ugly and bad,

Cocaine and hash….

Out the callabosse,

Back on the street,

Down for awhile,

Back on his feet,

No boot hill for him,

He’s quick on the draw,

Sheriff hogtied,

Above the law,

Cos….

He’s the Bransholme cowboy,

The man with no name,

These streets are his prairie,

Wild one, never tame,

And this town is Deadwood,

A chav Billy The Kid,

And this bad amigo,

Shoots you down for a quid.

13 thoughts on “The Bransholme Cowboy.

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