| F#m | A | | An old cowpoke went riding out one d | ark and windy day; |
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| F#m | A | C#7 | | Up | on a ridge he rested as he | went along his w | ay, |
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| F#m | | When a | ll at once a mighty herd of red-eyed cows he saw, |
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| D | Bm | F#m | | A-p | lowin' through the r | agged skies and | up a cloudy draw. |
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| | | D | Bm | F#m | | | gh | ost riders | in the | sky. |
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| F#m | A | | Their | brands were still on fire and their h | ooves were made of steel, |
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| F#m | A | C#7 | | Their | horns wuz black and shiny and their h | ot breath he could | feel; |
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| F#m | | A b | olt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky, |
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| D | Bm | F#m | | For he | saw the riders | comin' hard and he | heard their mournful cry. |
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| F#m | | Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred, |
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| A | | Their s | hirts all soaked with sweat; |
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| F#m | A | C#7 | | They're | ridin' hard to catch that herd, but | they ain't caught 'em yet; | |
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| F#m | | They've | got to ride forever in that range up in the sky, |
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| D | Bm | F#m | | On h | orses snortin' f | ire, as they r | ide on, hear their cry. |
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| F#m | A | | As the | riders loped on by him, he | heard one call his name; |
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| F#m | A | C#7 | | "If you | want to save your soul from hell a' r | idin' on our | range, |
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| F#m | | Then c | owboy change your ways today or with us you will ride, |
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| D | Bm | F#m | | A- | tryin' to catch the | Devil's herd a | cross these endless skies." |
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| | | D | Bm | A | | | | Ghost riders | in the | sky. |
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