Buckshot Dot's tribute to Whiskey Springs

[Gazette Blog Editor's note: Those of us who make fairly regular treks to the Valley will appreciate this poem, the latest by the Rim Country's own Buckshot Dot.]

Whiskey Springs

 By Buckshot Dot, © 2012

              

(Words within quotation marks are sung to tune of Big Rock Candy Mountain)

        I was drivin’ up to Payson

                in my old Ford pickup truck,

        When I seen a sign says, “Whiskey Springs,”

                and I figured I’s in luck!

        That sign come up there on a bridge

                Acrost a dry arroya.

        (Now I said dry – no whiskey nigh!

                Now wouldn’t that annoy ya?)

        I figgered this must be the place

                where “Ya never change yer socks,

        And little drops of al-key-hol

                comes tricklin’ down the rocks!”

        I aimed to locate Whiskey Springs;

                It must be here some place!

        Because it is the Canyon’s name,

                that sure must be the case!

        So I unloaded my old hoss

                from the trailor there in back

        And we headed down below the bridge,

                Spam sandwich in a sack.

        “Where the bulldogs all have rubber teeth

                and the railroad bulls are blind.
        I’m bound to go where there ain’t no snow

                where the sleet don’t fall and the wind don’t blow,

                In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.”

        But I never seen no railroad tracks,

                No bulldogs way out here!

        And I never found no Whiskey Springs,

                Nor even found no beer!

        I think the guy what named it

                Musta been a basket case.

        I’ll tell ya sure, this canyon ain’t

                No Big Rock Candy place!