| He was just a Texas cowhand,
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| One that knew his stuff
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| His eyes were black,
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| His face was tan,
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| His hands were broad and rough.
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| (Yodel)
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| Tough as an old buzzsaw,
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| All the boys stayed shy
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| For they all knew his aim was true
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| He’d shoot at the wink of an eye.
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| One night with grass plains around us,
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| He met with a rustlers band
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| As the flames leaped high on his old camp fire,
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| He fell with a gun in his hand.
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| We rolled out of bed the next morning,
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| We dug a grave in the sand
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| When we found stretched out on the ground
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| This brave and lonely cowhand.
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| We buried him on the prairie,
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| Wrapped in an old cowhide
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| By the light of the moon we wrote on his tomb
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| «Another cowhand’s last ride». |