The West by Rick Haag Now the range ain't quite empty and the mustangs' not alone, You can still see the sunset & the coyot' still wails his drone. The Red mans' on the Rez, maybe the cowboy will be too, The country's gettin' thinner and the big outfits are gettin' few.
But there's still some wild places, where the eagle still flies high, Where cattle roam the prarie underneath the western sky. So boys roll out the wagon & wrangle the cavvy up, Soon we'll chase the wild bovine & drink from a blue tin cup.
Go & get your kack, and boys have no fear, As long as there's cows & cowboys, the west will always be here.
Cowboy Hat by Rick Haag
It's black and It's dirty, It's stained with sweat for sure. And if it was a human, he'd be crippled, old & poor. But It's kept the sun away, the rain & snow too, It's seen the bottom of many a sky, be it gray, black or blue. It's been crammend down hard to keep secure in many a wild & wooly chase, It's fanned the head of a heated dog & whacked a hooky ol' cow in the face.
It's been sweated in so many times it has its' own peculiar smell, On Sunday it still looks pretty good, but on Saturday it looks like hell. It's been tossed & kicked, smashed & licked & stomped into the ground, Sometimes it looks like it oughta be in some damn bums' lost & found.
It's been watered on by a shepherd dog & chewed on by a rat, But I think I'll wait another year to retire this 'ol black hat.
Buckaroo By Rick Haag
Mcarty long with prickly hair, Mile long gaze & a sage brush stare. Silver, jingle-bobs,spade bits too, Such is the gear of the old-time buckaroo.
Born from the style of the old Vaquero way, >From the deserts of Nevada, to the Sierra Madre. Sixty feet of reata to take his dally-welt, Fringed chinks, silk rag & a hat of beaver felt.
Broncy horses in the cavvy but they're handy in the rodear, Big, wild country, air that's free & clear. Ride a slick-fork saddle & throw the hoolihan. Just the kinda life for a cowboy wild-man.
He's a bovine chasin', mustang racin' wild west conundrum, Rank bronc twistin', pistol packin, anything but humdrum. Just like the old-time Indians, they're gettin' mighty few, Such is the way of the Western Buckaroo.