| An old cowpoke went riding out one dark and windy day; |
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Upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way, |
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When all at once a mighty herd of red-eyed cows he saw, |
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A-plowin' through the ragged skies and up a cloudy draw. |
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Their brands were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel, |
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Their horns wuz black and shiny and their hot breath he could feel; |
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A bolt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky, |
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For he saw the riders comin' hard and he heard their mournful cry. |
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Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred, |
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Their shirts all soaked with sweat; |
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They're ridin' hard to catch that herd, but they ain't caught 'em yet; |
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They've got to ride forever in that range up in the sky, |
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On horses snortin' fire, as they ride on, hear their cry. |
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As the riders loped on by him, he heard one call his name; |
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"If you want to save your soul from hell a' ridin' on our range, |
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Then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride, |
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A-tryin' to catch the Devil's herd across these endless skies." |
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