You see that li'l baldy hoss
A standin' over there,
His eyes half shut, his head drooped
With a plum' dejected air?
Looks to you worth 'bout twobits
An' not a speck of use
But I wouldn't take a million
For that li'l ol' cayuse!

That brand upon his shoulder?
Sure! That's a 'Lazy B'
Which signifies my pilgrim friend,
That he belongs to me.
An' we've been pals together,
Fifteen years gone by last spring,
Which is longer than most men agrees.
An' that's a dead sure thing.

An' he has packed me miles an' miles.
Along the western trails.
From Montana down to Texas;
He could tell you many tales
'Bout the night herds, an' the roundup,
Valley, mountain, tableland,
Chinook an' northern blizzard,
An' the desert's burning sand.

Say he's tougher than the devil,
Ain't so doggone long on looks,
But he knows a powerful lot of things
That ain't wrote down in books.
He knows the quiet coolees,
He knows the hills an' brakes;
The alkali an' sage brush,
An' the stagnant prairie lakes.

He has seen the dogies milling,
By the crooked lightning flash
Five thousand longhorns waiting
For that hell-bent thunder crash
That seems to set 'em locoed,
An' starts the big stampede,
While the air is full of terror,
Like the souls of Hell were freed.

He sure knows 'bout the rangeland,
Cattle, ropes an' branding fire,
And he savvys what I'm talkin' 'bout
Right now or I'm a liar.
For see him cock his ears up
An' sorter bat his eyes?
He's got hoot owls by the tree full
Skun to death for being wise.

An' when I point away to find
The Happy Hunting Ground
He'll be waiting there to pack me,
An' to kinder show me 'round.
Course he's no thoroughbred, but then
I'm here to tell you, Boss,
That I wouldn't take a million
For that li'l baldy hoss.