It's cowboy time.
I'm watchin' them ride.
They ride across wild west prairies.
Wild flowers welcome their day.
I love cowboys, and their cowboy ways.
Some got ornery, and went renegade.
Many fought for the south,
In the great Civil War.
They wore the stars and bars.
Frank and Jesse James.
Cole and Jim Younger.
I can see it all now.
Fiddles, banjos, saloon girls, card games,
Whiskey, spitoons, and hair-trigger violence.
Let's ante up for the Post-Bellum cowpokes!
They danced the two-step and lived with reckless abandon.
They lived in towns named "Deadwood".
They were laid to rest in graveyards called "Boot Hill".
Theirs was a time of harsh winters and daily survival.
They suffered from early deaths.
Yes, early deaths caused by violence or disease.
They robbed stagecoaches, banks,
And the Chicago-Rock Island line.
They were outlaws.
Damned poverty turned them to this.
They were hunted by sheriffs, bounty hunters,
And Pinkerton men.
The cowboys murdered for money.
In turn they were murdered for justice.
The hang man was always a-waitin'.
These outlaws suffered wound after wound.
They bled real blood.
They were renegade cowboys.
On the run.
In the wild, wild west.