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The cattle are prowling, the coyotes are howling |
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Way out where the doggies roam |
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Where spurs are a jingling, the cowboy is singing |
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His lonesome cattle call |
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He rides in the sun' |
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Til his days work is done |
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And he rounds up the cattle each fall |
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Singing his cattle call |
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For hours he would ride on the range far and wide |
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When the night wind blows up and slow |
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His heart is a feather in all kinds of weather |
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He sings his cattle call |
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He's browned as a berry |
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From riding the prairie |
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And he sings with an old western drawl |
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Singing his cattle call |
