| Stolen from the desert
|
| In the lost part of the state
|
| Just a half-broke horse
|
| He waits by the gate
|
| No bridled horse can stand him
|
| Or any of his kind
|
| Their hidden laws condemn him
|
| They’re so rigid and refined
|
| He watches on the edge
|
| Dirty coat, shaggy mane
|
| Too wild for this world
|
| Too tame for mustangs
|
| Grew up in the desert
|
| In the lost part of the state
|
| Cut our teeth on promises
|
| And empty plates
|
| Single-wides and ranches
|
| Disappear before our eyes
|
| These folks here don’t come around
|
| They’re so rigid and refined
|
| We stand on the edge
|
| Dirty coats, ragged hands
|
| We’re strangers to this world
|
| And this new breed of man
|
| And we just got our notice
|
| This whole place is going under
|
| The bank’s whip is on us
|
| We won’t last another summer
|
| They’ll have to come and take us
|
| With the force of ten trains
|
| ‘Cause it’s no life worth living
|
| If we don’t hold the reins
|
| Like half-broke horses
|
| From the lost part of the state
|
| We watch in silence
|
| And wait by the gate
|
| On both sides of these bars
|
| We’re one and the same
|
| Too wild for this world
|
| Too tame for mustangs |