Ridin'
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 saddleEvery day without a change,And a desert sun a-blazin'On a hundred miles of range.
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Ridin'
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.