Christine Schuman

Country / Folk / Americana
Big Timber, MT

Waltzing On My Daddy’s Boots
By Christine Schuman

Mama said Girl put on your calico dress
She tied my pigtails with satin bows of blue
It’s Saturday night at the old country school
Everyone’s dancing to those old fiddle tunes
Daddy bows saying, may I have this dance please?
He’d twirl me around to that old familiar score
One two three, one two three we swayed back and forth
Waltzing in fairyland on that scarred wooden floor
In a feed sack dress my mama sewed
All eyes, scabby knees and bo-ny elbows
I was Cinderella of that room
Waltzing on my Daddy’s boots, waltzing on my Daddy’s boots
Someday a handsome young man will waltz you away
He laughed when I cried, Oh Daddy that can’t be true
Cause I never want to dance with anyone else
I just want to waltz for always with you
But he was right, he knew as Daddy’s do
And now my little girl dances on her Daddy’s boots
Pigtails in ribbons, dressed in calico
All eyes, scabby knees and bo-ny elbows
I was Cinderella of that room
Waltzing on my Daddy’s boots, waltzing on my Daddy’s boots
Now if wishes were granted and grown up dreams come true. I’d again be Cinderella
Waltzing on my Daddy’s boots, waltzing on my Daddy’s boots
Thanks Dad

Powder River Let Er Buck
By Christine Schuman

Powder River let er buck,
Don’t give up, don’t give in
Ride that twister to the end
Powder River let er buck,

The old man was cheering at his first rodeo
Bucking on a skim milk calf when he was 6 years old
With a clotheslone bull rope, his Daddy’s spurs and cowboy hat
Ridin for a crowd of one, his Grandpa Jack

Grandpa Jack had taught him life is like a rodeo
Sometimes you make a ride, sometimes you get thrown
Keep dustin off your blue jeans cause that’s the Cowboy way
There’ll be another ride son, there’ll be another day

Powder River let er buck,
Don’t give up, don’t give in
Ride that twister to the end
Powder River let er buck,

He was riggin up to ride in Cheyenne’s Frontier Days
When he got Mama’s call, Grandpa Jack had passed away
His draw was Demon Dancer buckin out chute number eight
This one’s for you Gramps, and nodded, to pull the gate

Eight seconds is a lifetime when you’re chasing a rodeo dream
Bucking rough stock outlaws and reaching for that brass ring
Then riding down that white line in your worn out pickup truck
With memories of Grandpa Jack and Powder River let er buck