When Heaven called for Mr. Punk,
He'd had a fruitful life,
One daughter and four sons he'd raised,
With Doris, his dear wife.
Like many Other South plains men,
He'd tilled the soil for bread,
And battled wind, and weeds, and drought,
To keep his family fed.
He did things well and right on time,
And honestly as well,
And no one ever doubted him,
As well as I can tell.
He'd had his little run-ins,
And I can name a few;
But I'll just tell you one I know,
And that will have to do:
There was the time an angry cow—
To guard her newborn calf—
Charged and butted Punk so hard,
It near cut him plum in half!
He'd suffered pains and sicknesses,
And troubles by the score,
But every time we thought "He's done,"
He'd recuperate once more.
There is a vision Punk would see
As he looked outside each day:
Three mounted braves on ponies wild
Appeared across the way.
Upon the caprock canyon's rim,
They rode up from the east,
And looked down on the red brick house,
Not threatened in the least.
Old Punk would wave and wish them well,
And off then they would ride;
The morning Sun would brush with gold
Bronze skin and horse's hide.
On Wednesday last they came again,
To greet as in the past,
But Punk was walking up the hill,
To meet with them at last.
His OshKosh overalls were new,
His sparkling hair was white,
They helped him up and off they rode,
Till they were out of sight.
The Western Channel doesn't reach
To Heaven's TV set,
But Punk won't have to worry,
He's got it better yet:
He gets to talk to Randolph Scott,
And Gary Cooper slim,
And Rex, the Duke, and Dale and Roy
Will gladly welcome him.
And now we've come to lay to rest,
Our Dad and loyal friend,
And we must thank the Lord above
For his peaceful, restful end.