I used to write a cowboy poem each Christmas for my pal Lyle. Lotta folks in this little town are stringing lights around their porches, so I figure this is legal..... 

 

The Buckaroo Fez 

The weather had changed on the high desert range.
And the coyotes were yodeling tunes
In a symphony hall of black canyon walls
Lit by a sliver of moon. 
Inside a line shack sat Shorty and Jack,
Rocking in fireside chairs.
Two buckaroos for the Diamond Bar Two,
Bearded and grizzled as bears.  

 Shorty McGhee turns to Jack and says he,
"Pard, this book has my lariat twisted.
It’s a history of hats and everything that
Fits on the noggin’s been listed.
There's snap-brim fedoras, and stovepipes more o'
Those things worn by big city shiners,
And bonnets and skullcaps and things with ear flaps
That shade the cowpokes in China,

 

You got teenagers’ beanies, crowns made for queenies

And helmets pounded from tin,

Caps made of beads and swampy old reeds

And some that dispense whiskey or gin.  
But the deal most confusing is this contraption they're using
In Turkey I think that it says,
It’s a hat with no brim, with a tassel for trim.
Now just what in tarnation’s a fez?"

Jack lifted his head from the book that he read
Stared 'cross the snow and the sage,
Took a ten dollar bill down from the sill
And carefully marked out his page. 
"I’ll tell you Shorty, back in the Forties,
Seems a thousand winters ago,
That Too-Fancy Larry rode over this prairie,
Sporting a brand new beaver chapeau.

In the crown was a pucker called The Winnemucca
The brim was a good eight inches wide,
With a hatband of snake and enough feathers to make
A Rhode Island rooster lose pride. 
Larry landed a job out on Antelope Nob,
Fifty miles south of this camp.
His bunkmate that year was a man hooked on beer
Called Marvin “ The Shotgun” Stamp.

Larry was a rambler, a Saturday night gambler,
Who'd bet on most any old thing.
Marvin was a loner, a solitary stoner, 
Who only washed clothes in the spring.
The two worked together through months of cold weather
And something was destined to give.
Seems merely by chance or blind circumstance
That both of them managed to live.

But enough chewing fat, let's get back to the hat,
And Larry's high wagering ways.
The story that's told says it was gut-freezing cold
And just after Valentine’s Day,
When Marvin suggested that a theory be tested,
With a gentlemanly ten dollar bet,
That Larry’s black bonnet with a beer bottle on it
Could on a fencepost be set

And directly be shot with the pure double-ought
With which Marvin’s shotgun was packed.
Oh, a pellet or two might shatter the brew
But it would leave Larry's Stetson intact.
Larry jumped at the wager, aimed the twelve-guager,
And took a fine bead on the crown.
Folks 'round here figure when he pulled the trigger
It blew snake hide and feathers to town.

Marv rolled up a smoke, then reached in his poke
Peeled off a ten from his roll,
And gave it to Lar' who was just standing there
Holding a handful of holes.
"Gee, something went wrong, you musta aimed long,
Well, here's what I owe you," Marv says.
So, up in Antelope camp it was old Marvin Stamp 
Who invented the buckaroo fez.”