There is a young cowboy who lives on the range
His horse and his cattle are his only companions
He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyon
Waiting for summer his pastures to change
And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinkin' about women and glasses of beer
Closing his eyes as the dogies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but is clear
As if maybe someone could hear

Now the first of December was covered with snow
So was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
Well the Berkshires seem dreamlike on account of that frostin'
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go
There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway
A song that they sing when they take to the sea
A song that they sing of their home in the sky
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep
But singing works just fine for me