| Just barely eighteen when the Great War was through
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| Ridin' and fighin' was all that I knew
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| Hard life and death was all that I seen
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| Ridin' hell bend for leather in search of a dream
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| I rode drag on a heard up the old Chisum trail
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| Straight through Oklahoma to Dodge City’s jail
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| My hard dusty wages played out way too soon
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| On whisky and Keno at the Long Branch Saloon
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| All I have left is my stories to tell
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| Heavens too far and I’m plumb scared of hell
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| Nobody wants this pain and misery
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| But there still are some who think they could be a cowboy like me
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| I spent one lonely winter in an old line shack
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| With beans in my belly rain on my back
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| A ration of coffee and a mountain of snow
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| With cattle to attend to at forty below
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| And it’s back for the round up in April or May
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| You round up the calf’s boys and you cut out the strays
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| And you might touch a woman before the long summer ends
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| Then its back to the line shack and do it all again
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| And all I have left…
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| I’ve given some bad guys a hard way to go
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| I busted my bones in them old time rodeos
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| I might have stretched truth Lord but I’ve never lied
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| Can’t you tell I’m a cowboy by the scars on my side
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| But I rode with Cole Younger and New Jesse James
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| Me and old Wyatt use to ride on the range
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| And men all said sir to my Colt 45
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| And I was with Hitchcock the night that he died
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| All I have left… |