3x-xx-xx ep53 First Song - Spanish Cavalier

No feet in Arizona! Go crazy, old members of I For calls for my vision Out under the sky So wide open space is my doorway This cause I'm a lamp overhead And when I grow tired and weary I use saddle and glass for my pen Oh, get, get, get, get, get, oh Get out your hostie

See, I'm packing on high Or who wouldn't in a place like this to come to? All that beautiful scenery, the sun, the moon, the storm. And don't forget a pack of hyenas to eat you out of a house at home, or something.

And one big donkey that likes to pray as well as eat. Oh, you're speaking to yourself, Curly. All right. Some people that dumb as well as boast. Curly, if it weren't for you, I don't know what I'd do.

For me, you just make life as pleasant as a little garden, full of thorns. Oh, sure. To hear you two talk, you'd expect to hear a six gun pop most any minute. And you're both as harmless as a pair of weak old pups.

Music boys and put some smiles on these chaps faces. Come on. That's good enough music to make a wooden Indian smile. Say we may be Indians, boss, but I hope we're not wooden.

I wouldn't even be an Indian. Oh, the nearest you'd go to be in Indian is your Spanish ancestor. You're only sore because you ain't got Spanish blood in your vein. What do you mean to tell me, curly, that you're a descendant of the Spanish race?

I don't like to boast like some people I know, boss, but my uncle's wife, on my mother's side, her great-grandfather's daughter married a regular Spanish cavalier. Which makes you a child of mine. Sing me a Spanish song to camp my nerves before I brand that year!