The Cowhand's Last Ride

He was just a Texas cowhand,
One that knew his stuff
His eyes were black,
His face was tan,
His hands were broad and rough.

Tough as an old buzzsaw,
All the boys stayed shy
For they all knew his aim was true
He'd shoot at the wink of an eye.

One night with grass plains around us,
He met with a rustlers band
As the flames leaped high on his old camp fire,
He fell with a gun in his hand.

We rolled out of bed the next morning,
We dug a grave in the sand
When we found stretched out on the ground
This brave and lonely cowhand.

We buried him on the prairie,
Wrapped in an old cowhide
By the light of the moon we wrote on his tomb:
"Another cowhand's last ride".