| He was an old-time cowboy, don’t you understand
|
| His eyes were sharp as razor blades
|
| His face was leather tan
|
| His toes were pointed inward from a-hangin' on a horse
|
| He was an old philosopher, of course
|
| He was so thin I swear you could have used him for a whip
|
| He had to drink a beer to keep his britches on his hips
|
| I knew I had to ask him about the mysteries of life
|
| He spit between his boots and he replied,
|
| «Son, it’s faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, more money.»
|
| He smiled and all his teeth were covered with tobacco stains
|
| He said, «It don’t do men no good to pray for peace and rain.
|
| Peace and rain is just a way to say prosperity,
|
| And buffalo chips is all it means to me.»
|
| I told him I was a poet, I was lookin' for the truth
|
| I do not care for horses, whiskey, women or the loot
|
| I said I was a writer, my soul was all on fire
|
| He looked at me an' he said, «You are a liar.»
|
| «Son, it’s faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, more money.»
|
| Well, I was disillusioned, if I say the least
|
| I grabbed him by the collar and I jerked him to his feet
|
| There was something cold and shiny layin' by my head
|
| So I started to believe the things he said
|
| Well, my poet days are over and I’m back to being me
|
| As I enjoy the peace and comfort of reality
|
| If my boy ever asks me what it is that I have learned
|
| I think that I will readily affirm
|
| «Son, it’s faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, more money.
|
| «(repeat as song fades) |