| Out in Arizona where the bad men are,
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| And the only friend to guide you is an Evening Star,
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| The roughest, toughest man by far
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| Is Ragtime Cowboy Joe.
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| Got his name from singing to the cows and sheep
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| Every night they say he sings the herd to sleep
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| In a basso rich and deep,
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| Crooning soft and low
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| How he sings raggy music to his cattle
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| As he swings back and forward in his saddle
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| On his horse (a pretty good horse)
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| Who is syncopated gaited
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| And with such a funny meter
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| To the roar of his repeater
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| How they run when they hear the feller’s gun
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| Because the western folks all know:
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| He’s a hifalootin' scootin', shootin'
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| Son-of-a-gun from Arizona
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| Ragtime cowboy (talk about your cowboy)
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| Ragtime cowboy Joe.
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| Dressed up ev’ry Sunday in his Sunday clothes
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| He beats it for the village where he always goes,
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| And ev’ry girl in town is Joe’s
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| 'Cause he’s a ragtime bear;
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| When he starts a-spieling on the dance hall floor,
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| No one but a lunatic would start a war
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| Wise men know his forty-four
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| Makes men dance for fair. |