In a little West Texas cow town years ago
There was an old doctor by the name of Hill
Little man, mild mannered, cheerful until made mad
He doctored old cowboys and drunks when things got slow
His usual cure was a kick in the butt and a pill
He had some regular people that weren't to bad
Doctor Hill had some that lived far out of town
On ranches and God awful places Doc was carried
There was one family that lived on a ranch way far out
There name was Brown
An old mother and two daughters not married
The old mother complained to hurt everywhere about
She claimed to be bed ridden, could walk as good as you and me
She fell out of bed one night, the sister did not know what to do
So the called Dr. Hill at ten
So late at night the got in his car to go see
He had been there five times before, he knew what to do
Laying there on the floor, she had done it again
Doc told them to get a blanket and a pillow and put them on the floor
He made a pallet for her and ten he said
"Let's roll her over on to the mat
Put the pillow under her head , then headed for the door
His little round face was turning blood red
Then he said, "Now damn it fall off of that"
Three eggs in the Ice Box and the hens quit layin yesterday
Low on milk and the milk cow went dry
Don't worry about the windmill being broke, the wind won't blow
Sometimes the river of life can run that way
All we can do is keep on going and wonder why
It is not for us to know
The drought has taken over, our back are against the wall
Seems like we cannot rent a friend
The grass is dead and the cattle need to be fed
Worries and headaches are no longer small
This is stating to look like the end
We just never know what is ahead
Both ends of the candle are burnt and about out of rope
Clouds are rolling across the sky like a empty freight train
Bill collectors are knocking at the door,"can't get blood out of a turnip"
Sometimes there seems like there is no hope
It will quit hurting hen there is no more pain
And two new flat tire on the old pickup
It can get you down if you let it, but there is an easier way out
When you cannot see the forest for the trees
Just remember the old sayin
Even if you are full of doubt
Get off your horse and fall to your knees
Never to late for prayin
Dry as Hell, not a rain cloud in sight
The grass is dead and the cattle need to be fed
At the end of another day
Hot cup of coffee, by the campfire light
Saddle for a pillow, sitting on his bed
Dreaming of yesterday
Gun fights, trail drives, senoritas too
Barb wire, lighting, a little tequila a long the way
Rattle snakes, coyotes howling at a full moon
Hard times and bad luck was nothing new
He knew that he would soon draw his pay
He knew the trail end would be coming soon
Dust storms, thunder is rolling
No sugar and the coffee is bitter
But this old life is good
Cattle are hungry and cows are bawling
Hell, he is no quitter
He would not change it if he could
Then a barb wire pain tore through his chest
His hat turned into a halo and spurs into wings
It was quick as he hit the ground as his soul set sail
He knew that he had done his best
And that is what this old life brings
The angels took him home that night on Angel Trail
Got up, it was just past four
Half awake and stumbling around
Strike a match, light a kerosene lamp
Hat is hanging on the door
Door nail dead and not a sound
Iceberg cold in this old cow camp
Give "Old Blue" some oats and hay
Early morning and ready to eat
Got my coffee boiling in a can
Think that it is going to be a long day
That old cabin should have some heat
Icy wind cuts through beast or man
Leave the barn before day light
Checked the fence, cattle were fine
All alone without a better half
With any luck should be back before midnight
To a hot cup of coffee instead of wine
Thank God, that crazy old cow had her calf
Storm clouds building, it might snow
Tomorrow chopping ice, cattle need to drink
Hope that it is not cold in eternity
The old camp stove is burning with a glow
And got all night to think
As I am writing in this old cowboy's diary
That old mercury is a risin
The shade is a boiling if there is any
The Sun is barren down
The snakes are shedding their skin
Heat strokes are many
Melting down in this old town
A cold beer sure would be nice
Sure would be a cure
Thank God the cactus don't drink
Around here no one has the price
We all know that for sure
And it is too damn hot to think
It is too hot here, most cannot take it
So the Devil went home for a holiday
And what am I doing here?
Yes Sir, old Satan just up and quit
Sure wish I had that last beer
The lizards are sweatin
The buzzards are to thirsty to fly
I am hung over, but think her name was Rosa
And don't think that it was a sin
But I am not sure just why
Don't have a map, but think I am in Arizona
Sat on top of High Lonesome Hill
It would scream, cry, lacked grease and oil
The lonely sound as the mountain wind would blow
Pumped ice cold water, thirsty cows would drink their fill
In the summer time, the Sun would boil
Still pumping even in the snow
Built out of oak timber
Many years ago, strong as the day was long
Storms come and go, still standing tall
Never missed a day of work since I can remember
And singing it's mournful song
For a bunch of thirsty cows, it was "Cattle Call"
The road there was an old dry creek bed
In the oak trees, the deer would hide
I would ride there on a buckskin bay
For hours of dreaming and resting my head
All that was yesterday
Windmill spin as you pump the cowboy's gold
With a piece of beef jerky, a no finer meal
If that could only happen again
Like the memory that only a cowboy can hold
That old spinning windmill wheel
It was Heaven without any sin
They often say that wood is green
When it’s new and in its youth;
And when mature it is soft brown
And that is but the truth.
But when it’s old and dry and hard,
Is when it turns to gray;
And then it seems of not much use
Till it is hauled away.
And so it is with old horses
And old cowboys so they say;
They run their course and seize the time
Till both then turn to gray.
But, in the course of man’s events—
Of old roans and dappled bay;
They do the things that we expect
Till all the world goes gray.
And so it is with old folks now,
Once young and in the pink;
Or in their prime, all strong and tall—
Thought they’d never die, I think.
But now we’re old, all bent and frail—
We’ve seen a better day;
And like that wood, we disappear,
As we all fade to gray.
Oh, our days have rode by fast
And life withers from the rose;
No thing will last forever—
A man’s youth will never last.
But it’s all planned, I suppose,
Yet we take it mighty hard;
It’s just in His perfect plan—
A truth that each old man knows.
So we seek out each old pard,
Knowing that life will soon fade,
As we ride above each cliff,
Finding growing old still hard.
Yes, cowboys cling to the shade
As they wait that final card;
Hold to memories that fade—
But Lord, it’s hard, it’s so hard.
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