There is some that likes the city--
Grass that's curried smooth and green,
Theaytres and stranglin' collars,
Wagons run by gasoline--
But for me it's hawse and saddle
Every day without a change,
And a desert sun a-blazin'
On a hundred miles of range.
_Just a-ridin', a-ridin'--_
_Desert ripplin' in the sun,_
_Mountains blue along the skyline--_
_I don't envy anyone_
_When I'm ridin'._
When my feet is in the stirrups
And my hawse is on the bust,
With his hoofs a-flashin' lightnin'
From a cloud of golden dust,
And the bawlin' of the cattle
Is a-coming' down the wind
Then a finer life than ridin'
Would be mighty hard to find.
_Just a-ridin, a-ridin'--_
_Splittin' long cracks through the air,_
_Stirrin' up a baby cyclone,_
_Rippin' up the prickly pear_
_As I'm ridin'._
I don't need no art exhibits
When the sunset does her best,
Paintin' everlastin' glory
On the mountains to the west
And your opery looks foolish
When the night-bird starts his tune
And the desert's silver mounted
By the touches of the moon.
_Just a-ridin', a-ridin',_
_Who kin envy kings and czars_
_When the coyotes down the valley_
_Are a-singin' to the stars,_
_If he's ridin'?_
When my earthly trail is ended
And my final bacon curled
And the last great roundup's finished
At the Home Ranch of the world
I don't want no harps nor haloes,
Robes nor other dressed up things--
Let me ride the starry ranges
On a pinto hawse with wings!
_Just a-ridin', a-ridin'--_
_Nothin' I'd like half so well_
_As a-roundin' up the sinners_
_That have wandered out of Hell,_
_And a-ridin'._
[Illustration: "_When my feet is in the stirrups
And my hawse is on the bust._"]