September 23, 2021
Now and then I get to thinkin’ I should quit this feedlot job.
Go and ride with Buster, what’s-his-name, his Texas wagon mob.
Maybe move to old Montana, wear them bat wings for a while
Or do California day work in the old vaquero style.
I get my western magazines, shoot, I keep ’em by my chair
And I read ’em after lunchin’, sometimes wishin’ I was there.
See, it all looks so rom...