I am a cowpuncher
From off the North side,
My horse and my saddle
Are my bosom's pride;
My life is a hard one,
To tell you I'll try,
How we range-herded 'dogies'
Out on the Little Dry.

The first thing in the morning
We'd graze upon the hill,
Then drive them back by noontime
On water them to fill,
Then graze them round till sundown
And I've heaved full many a sigh
When I thought 'two hours night guard,'
After night fell on the Dry.

The next day was the same thing
And the next the same again,
Day-herding those same dogies
Out on the Dry's green plain;
Grazing them then bedding them,
One's patience it does try
When you think 'Now comes our night guard,'
After night falls on the Dry.

They're all right in the daytime,
But our Autumn nights are cold
And the least scare will stampede them,
And then they're hard to hold.
How many times I've 'darned' my luck
When dusk I would see nigh,
And say, 'I wish you were turned loose
E're night falls on the Dry.'

For a large bunch of cattle
Is no snap to hold at night,
For sometimes a blamed coyote howl
Will jump them in a fright,
Then a man will do some riding,
O'er rocks and bad-lands he will fly;
A stampede is no picnic
After night falls on the Dry.

Then should my horse fall down on me
And my poor life crush out,
No friendly hand could give me aid,
No warning voice would shout;
They'd hardly give a thought to me
Or scarcely heave a sigh,
And they'd bury me so lonely
When the night fell on the Dry.