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Sunset in the western skies,
cowboys stout and hale,
lowin of the cattle,
on that long and dusty trail.
All ya see for miles around
is sage and prairie grass,
leavin minds ta wanderin
bout good times in the past.
Chuck wagon trailin far behind,
Ol Fuzzy rattlin pans,
dont gripe about his cookin
or hell feed some other hands.
Eatin offa tin plates
black coffee and some beans,
while swappin them old stories
bout life and what it means.
Dangers, there are many,
thunder storms and then,
stampedin cattle scattered
needin roundin up again.
Rattlesnakes and blisterin heat,
cattle rustlers too,
lack a water, achin butts,
are only just a few,
hardships herdin cattle
ta market every year,
leavin them ya know behind,
often someone dear.
Restin head on saddlebags
with bedroll all spread out,
never takin off your boots
case foreman gives a shout.
After months a drivin
them cattle for the season,
ya ask yourself, Why do it,
the money aint the reason?
Temper starts ta gettin short,
youre dirty and plum stinkin,
question why ya signed on
but then ya get ta thinkin,
maybe its the peaceful times
when Ol Bucky plays a tune,
wailin on his mouth-harp
a song that ends too soon,
or sleepin on the prairie
with moon and stars above,
aint so very bad at all
cause its cowboy life we love.
Copyright ©2003 Tamara Hillman. All rights reserved.
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