Oh, a man there lives on the Western plains,
With a ton of fight and an ounce of brains,
Who herds the cows as he robs the trains
And goes by the name of cowboy.
He laughs at death and scoffs at life;
He feels unwell unless in some strife,
He fights with a pistol, a rifle, or knife,
This reckless, rollicking cowboy.
He sets up drinks when he hasn't a cent;
He'll fight like hell with any young gent.
When he makes love, he goes it hell-bent,
Oh, he's some lover, this cowboy.
He shoots out lights in a dancing hall;
He gets shot up in a drunken brawl.
Some coroner's jury then ends it all,
And that's the last of the cowboy.