| Merry-go-rounds and burial grounds are all the same to me
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| Horses on post and kids and ghosts are spirits that we ought to set free
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| Then city slicker pickers got a lot of slicker licks than me
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| But ridin' the range and acting strange is where I want to be.
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| And I just wanna be a cosmic cowboy
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| I just wanna ride and rope and hoot (hoot!)
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| Well, I just wanna be a cosmic cowboy
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| And a supernatural country rockin' galoot.
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| Well, skinny dippin' and Lone Star sippin' and steel guitar
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| Are just the same as Hollywood and them boogie-woogie bars
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| I’m gonna buy me a vest and a head out West, my woman and myself
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| And when we come to town the people gather ‘round and marvel at the little
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| baby’s health.
|
| And I just wanna be a cosmic cowboy
|
| I just wanna ride and rope and hoot (hoot!)
|
| Well, I just wanna be a cosmic cowboy
|
| A supernatural country rockin' galoot.
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| Ah, steel guitar!
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| Well, a big raccoon and a harvest moon keep rolling through my mind
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| Well, I got a woman …
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| So don’t bury me on the lone prairie, I’d rather play there alive
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| Well, I’m doing my best I keep my farm in the West, my little bronco in
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| over-drive.
|
| And I just wanna be a cosmic cowboy
|
| I just wanna ride and rope and hoot (hoot!)
|
| Well, I just wanna be a cosmic cowboy
|
| A supernatural country rockin' galoot
|
| And there is not a way I want to shoot
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| La la la la … |