|
The Galloping Gaucho comes to town, riding like a demon vaquero |
|
He bought his horse for half-a-crown and called it 'Scar faced Jock' |
|
Battered geetar on his back, poncho looking just like a light show |
|
All his welfare in a sack, he often travelled light |
|
He rode all through the night |
|
With a fleeting glance at a local dance |
|
And a cloud of dust in the morning |
|
The girls all stood and stared intentions undeclared |
|
For a six foot drip with a plastic whip |
|
He could not be compared |
|
Oh the Galloping Gaucho hits the town |
|
Made a date with Los Paraguayos |
|
Dressed in a pin striped suit of brown |
|
He wore his bowler hat |
|
Drinking wine and feeling fine |
|
When a dark haired girl appeared in a doorway |
|
Dressed in green like a gypsy queen |
|
She looked like dynamite! |
|
They rode all through the night |
|
With a farewell glance at the local dance |
|
and a cloud of dust in the morning |
|
The boys all stood and stared intentions undeclared |
|
For a brave Don Juan with a shaky hand |
|
He could not be compared |
|
Ohhh! The stack heeled cowboys in our town |
|
Are apt to think they're demon vaqueros |
|
Dressed in pin stripe suits of brown |
|
They think that we're uncool |
|
Shiny geetars on their backs |
|
Make up looking just like a light show |
|
Just avoiding income tax to get a little tight |
|
They ride all through the night |
|
With a far off glance at the local dance |
|
And a cloud of dust in the morning |
|
The girls all stood and stared, intentions undeclared |
|
To the boss eyed blade on his last crusade |
|
They could not be compared |
