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My cowboy poetry is based on factual quarter horses. "P-234 (is still the King)," was first published in the Foundation Quarter Horse Registry, which is located in Sterling, CO.
P-234 (is still the King)
by
William H. Capps
© The Capps Company ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 1998
Leo came from Cameron
Wimpy’s number in one
Both have earned the right to be called
A Texas favorite son
Time has shown their greatness
As their praises we still sing
But when you ride Southwest Texas
P-234 is still the King.
From the Palo Duro Canyon
To the Diablo Plateau
Across the rolling hills of Austin
To the streets of El Paso
Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you
Whether he’s weathered or he’s green
When you ride in Southwest Texas
P-234 is still the King.
He is as much a part of Texas
As cowtowns or rodeos
Longhorns or coyotes
Or the fabled Yellow Rose
Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you
Whether he’s weathered or he’s green
Ain’t no two ways about it, hoss
P-234 is still the King.
There’re Midnights and Gray Badgers
Waggoner’s Rainy Day
Old Joe Blair, Old Joe Bailey
Uncle Jimmy Grey
There’re Rondos, there’re Tontos
The Hank, the Gal, the Gill
Question Mark, Clabber
Ben Hur, Ed Echols and Chicaro Bill.
These were no mere horses
They wore lightning in their hide
They scorched the southwest winds
With their each and every stride.
Oklahoma Star, Cowboy, Beggar Boy
Nick Shoemaker, Amigo Brown
Can’t forget Raffles, Bartender, Joe Hancock
These are the jewels, but not the crown
Just ask anyone who saw him
Run the stable in Abilene
They’ll tell you without blinking
Hoss, P-234 is still the King.
He is as much a part of Texas
as black gold or dosey-dos
Poco Bueno, Pine Johnson
Jesse James or Matlock Rose
Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you
Whether he’s weathered or he’s green
When you ride in Southwest Texas
P-234 is still the King.
Squaw H., his running daughter
Was speed and beauty on the track
King’s Pistol was pure poetry
With Jim Calhoun sitting on his back
That princely son “Ole Pokey”
Started his own dynasty
As did Power Command, Royal King
Two more splendid branches
From his splendid tree.
Now I know there are those among us
Who say he was “all right for his time”
Then they’ll proceed to “blah, blah, blah”
About this old stud of mine
My temperature starts rising
Like a radiator on an old burned-out V-Eight
I slowly ball my fists
So I can properly oil that squeaking gate.
But ever since I “oiled” that one in Amarillo
The judge told me “to learn to count to ten”
Because I was going to learn to count to ninety
If I ever “oiled” one again
So I just tip my hat politely
The make my way back to the ring’
And watch one of his great-grand-get-prove
That P-234 is still the King.
He is as much a part of Texas
As Bluebonnets or Armadillos
Ernest Tubb’s “Walking the Floor”
Or the Playboys’ “San Antonio Rose”
Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you
That he’s dead certain of two things
One is that bourbon still goes with branchwater
And P-234 is still the King.