Some folks like the city
Grass thats curried smooth and green
Theaters and stranglin collars
Wagons run by gas olene
But for me its hawse and saddle
Everyday without a change
And the dessert sun a blazin
On a hundred miles of range
Just a ridin, a ridin
Dessert riplin in the sun
Mountains blue along the skyline
I don't envey anyone when I'm riden
When my feet is in my stirrups
And my hawse is on the bust
With his hooves a flashin lightnin
In a cloud of golden dust
And the bawl-in of the cattle
Is a com-in down the wind
Then a finer life than riden
Would be mighty hard to find
Just a ridin, a ridin
Spittin long cracks thru the air
Stirrin up a baby cyclone
Rippin up the prickly pear when I'm ridin
I don't need no art exhibits
When the sunset does her best
Painting ever-lasting glory
On the moun-tains to the west
And your opry sounds so foolish
When the night-bird starts his tune
And the desserts silver mounted
By the touches of the moon
Just a ridin, a ridin
Who can envy kings and czars
When the coyotes down the valley
Are a singin to the stars when i'm ridin
When my last long trail is ended
And my final bacons curled
And the last great roundups finished
At the home ranch of the world
I don't want no harps nor halos
Robes nor other dressed up things
Just let me ride the starry ranges
On a spotted horse with wings
Just a ridin, a ridin
Nothin I'd like half so well
As a roundin up the sinners
That have wondered out of hell and a ridin,
Just a ridin