Griping and growling, the camp cook is up
I know that he was born with an attitude
No way one can slumber around here
Smelling the coffee boiling, I need a cup
Wide open spaces, kitchen is kind of crude
Three more hours before the Sun will appear
Roll a smoke and roll you bed
No longer time to snore
Shake the scorpions out of your boots
No counting the cob webs in your head
Do worry about closing the door
Tumbleweeds have shallow roots
Crazy cattle, wild broncs for the day
You just know they have been eating loco weed
A run for your money, make you grab the saddle horn
That is how you earn your pay
And the nature of the breed
In a pasture full of mesquite thorn
Supper will be around midnight
Hot cup of coffee and a cold biscuit
Come payday, maybe some bacon
Around a campfire light
Then you know that it is time to quit
For a cowboy, just another day in the making
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