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Stephen Fromholz |
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Narrator: |
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In a bar in |
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Arizona On a sultry summer day |
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A cowboy came in off the road just to pass the time away |
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He pulled a stool up to the bar and pushed his hat back on his head |
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I listened to the stories told to the words that cowboy said. |
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He said... |
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Cowboy: I could tell you stories 'bout the |
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Indians on the plain |
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Talk about |
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Wells Fargo and the comin' of the trains |
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Talk of the slaughter of the buffalo that roamed |
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Sing a song of settlers, come out looking for a home |
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CHORUS (both) |
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Now the man with the big hat is buying |
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Drink up while the drinking is free |
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Drink up to the cowboys a dead or a dying |
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Drink to my compadres and me |
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Drink to my compadres and me |
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Narrator: |
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Well his shirt was brown and faded |
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And his hat was wide and black |
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And the pants that once were blue were grey and had a pocket gone in back |
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He had a finger missin' from the hand that rolled the smoke |
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He laughed and talked of cowboy life but you knew it weren't no joke, he said.... |
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Cowboy: I seen the day so hot your pony could not stand |
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And if your water bag was dry, don't count upon the land |
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And winters, |
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I've seen winters when your boots froze in the snow |
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And your only thought was leavin', but you had nowhere to go |
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CHORUS Narrator: |
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Well he rested easy at the bar, his foot upon the rail |
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And laughed and talked of times he'd had out living on the trail |
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The silence was never broken as the words poured from his lips |
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Quiet as the forty five he carried on his hip, he said ... |
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Cowboy: I rode the cattle drive from here to |
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San Antone |
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Ten days in the saddle you know, and weary to the bone |
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I rode from here to |
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Wichita without a womans' smile |
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The camp fire where |
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I cooked my beans was the only light for miles |
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CHORUS Narrator: |
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Well he rolled another ciggarette, as he turned toward the door |
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I heard his spurs a jingling as his boot heels hit the floor |
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He loosened up his belt a notch, pulled his hat down on his head |
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As he turned to say goodby to me this is what he said.... |
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Cowboy: Now the high-lines chase the highways, and the fences close the range |
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And to see a working cowboy, that's a sight that's mighty strange |
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But a cowboy's life was lonley, and his lot was not the best |
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But if it hadn't been for men like me, there wouldn't be no west. |
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Repeat Chorus |
