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Go on and get up the fire’s going cold, my bed roll is damp and I’m feeling old.
Before dawn it’s silent as death way out here, that big sky’s still starlit and
winter is near.
Go on and get up and poke at the coals, the bedroll is clingin’ and I’m feelin’ old.
A soft belt of pink has crept over the hills, promising daylight to break up the chill.
I’ll get up and stand up and drag on my boots, and yawn as I watch one last shootin’ star
shoot.
I’ll slap on my felt hat and pick up my gear, I’m feelin’ old and winter is near.
Dan’s out there hobbled and nickerin’ low, tryin’ to tell me I’m movin’ too slow.
Off in the distance a coyote wails and I and the big horse are back on the trail.
The last ranch I worked on went into the hole, short grass and low prices had
taken their toll.
I got half my wages and showed to the gate, the bank was foreclosin’, the small outfits fate.
I’m gonna get out where the gatherin’ is fun, where the air is still fresh and there’s plenty
of sun.
Where bankers don’t own the land that is grazed and a man gets good money for the cattle
he’s raised
Where the water is plenty and the grass never ends, where there’s no more rank horses and
no fences to mend.
Where a man gets his full pay put in his hand and keeping your word is the law of the land.
So get back in the saddle your time’s gettin’ thin and wake up old man you’ve been dreamin’
again.
