They'd make a rattlin' roundup, sure,
The troubles known to man,
If we could gather all the kinds
Since this old world began.
But 'mong the troubles on life's range,--
The common and preferred,--
That critter labeled Worry is
The orn'riest of the herd.
You think you've got him roped and tied
And humbled in the dust,
But soon that critter's up again
And raisin' clouds of dust.
You're feelin' fine--the sky is blue,
Your laugh's a happy man's--
But Worry comes cavortin' in
And stampedes all your plans.
Seems like, when this here world was made
For me and you, old pal,
This Worry critter should have been
Shut tight in some corral.