Bein' Cowboy's a State of Mind

Some say a cowboy’s a cowboy— It’s a truth he can’t hide behind— He rides hard on inner ranges— Bein’ cowboy’s a state of mind. They say you just ain’t a cowboy, If you make your wages in town— You have to have dirt on your hands And your boots dug deep in the ground. If you don’t ranch or ride the land, Some say you can’t write cowboy verse— They say that you ain’t authentic— A wannabe or even worse. Some say that you can’t do it right If you’ve never really been one— So I reckon that I can’t write ‘Bout open range or settin’ sun. They say you got to live the life, Be a rancher/workin’ cowpoke— Feelin’ it in your heart and soul Is just some Wild West movie joke. They don’t count imagination In their new corral trail mix view— You don’t have to fly to the moon To figure out that it ain’t blue. To some, ol’ ways are dead and gone, It’s ‘puters and pick-ups that’s best— They want no talk of cattle drives, Gunfights, outlaws or the Old West. They talk like we ain’t got no say— Cowboy poets should be cowboys— That romantic notions are done And they just want the real MeCoys. But tell this to workin’ cowboys: Don’t dig our graves before we’re dead— There’s room enough out on the plain— There’s still heritage in our head. Still, a cowboy is a cowboy— It’s a truth he can’t hide behind— He rides hard on inner ranges— Bein’ cowboy’s a state of mind.