| There’s ghost ridin' prairies whistlin' through the air
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| There’s dreams on main street broken dead and bare
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| And a river and a mountain grow older with the sky
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| Lookin' for some friends like those from days gone by
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| While the cowboys and the Indians roll across the range
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| The poor Buffalo die for silver change
|
| While the renegades and the wranglers
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| Drank up half town damn if some pilgrims
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| Didn’t tear the Wild West down
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| Circlin' like a vulturea all they’d pick the land to bits
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| Tearin' out its heart forcin' it to quit
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| Like an old ancient rustler the west just died away
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| Strangled by progress that greedy beast a prey
|
| While the cowboys and the Indians roll across the range
|
| The poor Buffalo die for silver change
|
| While the renegades and the wranglers
|
| Drank up half town damn if some pilgrims
|
| Didn’t tear the Wild West down
|
| While the renegades and the wranglers
|
| Drank up half the town damn if some pilgrims
|
| Didn’t tear the Wild West down |