There is some that like the city -
Grass that's curried smooth and green,
Theaytres and stranglin' collars,
Wagons run by gasoline -
But for me it's hawse and saddle
Every day without a change,
And a desert sun a-blazin'
On a hundred miles of range.
Just a-ridin',
a-ridin' -
Desert
Ripplin' in the sun,
Mountains blue along the skyline -
I don't envy
anyone
When I'm ridin'.
When my feet is in the stirrups
And my hawse is on the bust,
With his hoofs a-flashin' lightnin'
From a cloud of golden dust,
And the bawlin' of the cattle
Is a-comin' down the wind
Then a finer life than ridin'
Would be mighty hard to find.
Just a-ridin',
a-ridin'
Splittin'
long cracks through the air,
Stirrin' up a baby cyclone,
Rippin' up
the prickly pear
As I'm ridin'.
I don't need no art exhibits
When the sunset does her best,
Paintin' everlastin' glory
On the mountains to the west
And your opery looks foolist
When the night-bird starts his tune
And the desert's silver mounted
By the touches of the moon.
Just a-ridin',
a-ridin',
Who kin envy
kings and czars
When the coyotes down the valley
Are a-singin'
to the stars,
If he's ridin'?
When my earthly trail is ended
And my final bacon curled
And the last great roundup's finished
At the Home Ranch of the world
I don't want no harps nor haloes,
Robes nor other dressed up things -
Let me ride the starry ranges
On a pinto hawse with wings!
Just a-ridin', a-ridin'-
Nothin' I'd like half so well
As a-rounin'
up the sinners
That have wandered out of Hell,
And a-ridin'.
Ridin'