Cowboy essay on About Teens magazine

If you're ever sittin' on a park bench minding your own business, beware! Out of the corner of your eye you may see a tall drinka water in tight Wranglers, spurs and boots, wearing a ten-gallon hat heading your way. He'll talk to ya out of the corner of his mouth with a twang. That twinkle in his eyes will just about rip your heart out. When he turns his head to call for his best friend, Old Yeller, check the color behind his collar, then you'll be sure if he's a redneck. Take great caution if he tells you, "Ya got the prettiest blue eyes I ever did see," especially if your eyes are brown! All that country charm and tenderness is deceptive, my dear, because he's truly a tobacco chewin', beer drinkin', poker playin', son of a gun. Yet if he's carrying his guitar, gives ya a smile the size of Texas, and asks for one last chance, you'd better hold on tight, little missy, because that won't be the end of the last chances he'll need.
With all my warnings you may still be interested in being the queen of his double-wide trailer. You'd better toughen up that sweet heart a yours before he lassos half of it away. If he asks ya to the rodeo, or better yet dove hunting in the moonlight, just remember that heart of his ain't got no room for you when there's a rodeo in town. You'll be sittin' on that splinterin' ol' bleacher all alone watchin' him ride a bull and then he'll be shootin' the bull with his buddies after that! In his Ford pick-up you'll listen to hillbilly honky-tonk on the way to a smoky old saloon. You'll sit on a bar stool and watch him shoot pool with the good ol' boys.