| Too old to wrangle or ride on the swing
|
| You beat the triangle and curse everything
|
| If dirt were a kingdom
|
| Then you’d would be king
|
| On the goodnight trail
|
| On the loving trail
|
| The old woman’s lonesome tonight
|
| With your snake oils, your herbs and your liniment too
|
| You can do anything that a doctor can do
|
| Well, except find a cure for your own gobdam stew
|
| On the goodnight trail
|
| On the loving trail
|
| The old woman’s lonesome tonight
|
| Your French harp blows like a lone bawling calf
|
| It’s a wonder the wind don’t tear off your skin
|
| Get in there and blow out the light
|
| The tents are all struck
|
| And the coffee’s all gone
|
| The old boys are up and they’re raising the dawn
|
| You’re sitting there a dreamin'
|
| You are lost in a song
|
| On the goodnight trail
|
| On the loving trail
|
| The old woman’s lonesome tonight
|
| Well I know that some day I’ll be just the same
|
| Wearing an apron instead of a name
|
| Now no one can change it, and no one’s to blame
|
| On the goodnight trail
|
| On the loving trail
|
| The old woman’s lonesome tonight
|
| Your French harp is crying just like a lone bawling calf
|
| It’s a wonder the wind don’t tear off your skin
|
| Get in there and blow out the light
|
| The desert’s a book writ in lizards and sage
|
| And it’s easy to look just like an old torn out page
|
| All faded and cracked with the colors of age
|
| On the goodnight trail
|
| On the loving trail
|
| The old woman’s lonesome tonight
|
| Your French harp is cryin' just like a lone bawlin' calf
|
| It’s a wonder the wind don’t tear off your skin
|
| Get in there and blow out the light
|
| On the goodnight trail
|
| On the loving trail
|
| The old woman’s lonesome tonight
|
| Your French harp is cryin' just like a lone bawling calf |