| As he swings back and forward in the saddle
|
| On a horse that is syncopated, gaited
|
| And there’s such a funny meter to the roar of his repeater
|
| How they run when they hear that fellow’s gun
|
| Because the Western folks all know
|
| He’s a highfaluting, scooting, shooting son-of-a-gun from Arizona
|
| Fit as a fiddle and ready for love
|
| He always sings raggy music to the cattle
|
| As he swings back and forward in the saddle
|
| On a horse that is syncopated, gaited
|
| And there’s such a funny meter to the roar of his repeater
|
| How they run when they hear that fellow’s gun
|
| Because the Western folks all know
|
| He’s a highfaluting, scooting, shooting son-of-a-gun from Arizona
|
| Fit as a fiddle and ready for love |