Went to a funeral the other day, the untied boot girl passed away.
She dared to stride, boots open wide, roaming about the town,
trailing her golden rawhide laces all over the ground.
People let her know, “Hon, your shoes are untied.”
“I know, but I don’t have time.”
She’d laughingly reply as she rushed by,
(Twas the very reason that she died.)
And when she fell, it weren’t no surprise.
“Shoot,” we all said, cause we’d always surmised,
“I knew she was gonna take a fall, didn’t you guys?”
“Don’t care if you don’t, have a nice day,
cause if you trip, it’s you who will pay.”
We’d mumble those words, as she passed by,
can’t say we hadn’t tried, wasn’t our fault
when the untied boot girl died.
Weren’t men, drugs or booze that finally took her down,
just some dumb ‘ol rawhide laces, trailing on the ground.
A rawhide lace knocked her on her ass
wiped the smile off her face
and now, she’s passed.
Once in a while I’d hopefully call out,
“Hon, you need to tie your shoes.”
“If I fall I won’t sue, isn’t that what’s worrying you?”
“Good thing Missy cause you won’t win.”
She’d charge off, on her face a big grin.
The girl simply loved to stroll with her boots open wide.
They say she was strutting about town,
when she fell off her high horse and died.
“Where are her boots now?”
I heard the old man politely ask.
“Well, they buried ’em with her
cause up in Heaven, your neck don’t break
when you fall on your ass.”
Now, I get up each morning and I tie my old shoes,
cause if I go down, I’d prefer men, drugs, or booze.
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