Historical Folk Lyrics
"Idyl Of The Plains"

A man there lives on the Western plain,
With a ton of fight and an ounce of brain,
Who herds the cattle and rides the train
And goes by the name of cowboy.

He shoots with pistol and carves with knife,
He feels unwell unless in strife,
He laughs at death and mocks at life,
For he is the terrible cowboy.

He snuffs out candles with pistol balls,
He snuffs out lives in drunken brawls,
He gets snuffed out in gambling halls,
This wayward, frolicsome cowboy.

He riots in cities and towns, and browbeats;
He drives policemen off the streets,
He fills with terror all he meets,
For all give way to the cowboy.

Ten cowboys drunk near a small station,
Ten pistols ring in sepulchral tune,
Ten corpses stare at the big white moon,
And where, oh, where is the cowboy?