There's a spot down the road, where the old trails meet the new.
Where the grass is always green, and the sky is always blue.
Where the old ways meet the new, and there is no conflict
Like using a squeeze chute, to brand the bull that is slick.

The valley is all fenced and plowed, but there's hay in the stack.
To winter the cattle when the snow is deep, and the grass is slack.
There's some things that change, and are better that way.
And some changes are sad, no matter what anyone will say.

Some mighty fine things have drowned, in the river of time.
The wide open spaces are gone, and so's that true love of mine.
But the river flows on, and time's made a man of our son.
And you shouldn't be grievin', for what's over and one.

The ridges and draws, are all fenced in pastures and fields.
The farmer is braggin' about what his golden grain yields.
There's a haze in the hills, from the city that sits in the valley below.
But there's a house all cozy and warm, when winter winds blow.

You and your grandson, can watch the dawn, afillin' the sky.
And listen, to the midnite song, of the wild geese, as they fly.
When the summer is dusty and hot, and the rains don't come.
There's a well with a pump for water, when the creeks won't run.

And so, the river flows on, for better and for worse.
Babies are born, and old friends, leave in a hearse.
But the coyote still howls, when the night is cold and still.
And the evenings are filled, with the song of the whippoorwill.

The old trails are driftin' over with sand, and fading away.
Like the songs your mother sang to you, at the end of the day.
We travel new trails, and some of them are smooth and paved.
Where once the tall grass, rippled in the wind and waved.

But the river flows on, and trees that were saplings then,
Bear fruit for our children, who now have become men.
So, come rejoice with me, for the changes that are good.
And weep with me, for the terrible losses that we’ve stood.
LTB

The price of hay sure gone sky high.
The water trough has sprung a leak.
The price of cows sure makes you sigh.
And now that mud-hole's belly deep.

A pair of Levis are plum outa sight,
It cost twenty dollars just to go to town.
Mortgage rates really make you blue,
But the price of calves keeps agoin' down.

The west fences been a needin' fixin',
that fancy colt that was ready for the sale.
He got in the wire where the fence was down,
now he's packin' a leg and draggin' his tail.

Them dollar calves of four-five years ago,
have gone down to half that price.
Gas and pickup parts more'n doubled.
and boy, that sure ain't so nice.

Christmas coming round again,
another year just about gone.
Guess it's time to stop and wonder,
why the devil you keep a'hanging on.
Well, heck.

Did you see that new calf
that came last night?
A kickin' and abuckin'
he surely was a sight

Them cows are winterin' good,
and they are really gettin' calvey.
That roan mare is lookin' at a cow,
and she is really gettin' savvy.

Comin' in cold and wet,
Your horse makin' crisp noises in the snow.
Warm light a'shinin',
From the ranch house window far below.

Last night the prettiest picture you ever saw,
moonlight silver on newly fallen snow.
Far off coyote a'howling' way down the draw,
singin' the lonesomest song you'll ever know.

For this kinda life,
and this wonderful land.
We can only give thanks,
for the blessin' of His hand.

We see His star in the Eastern sky,
our hearts are filled with peace and joy.
Maybe we should stop and wonder why,
He has blessed us more than most.

So sadly we watch the agony,
of Beiruit, Poland and Afghanistan.
And of all this war torn world,
how blessed is this our land.

I'm sure the Good Lord didn't intend,
for it to tum out this a'way.
And I'm sure He'd straighten it out,
if we'd back off and let Him have His say.

On a cold and windy Christmas night,
three weary cowboys saw the light.
Shining in the Eastern sky,
Herald of our Lord on High.
They paused in the awesome Glory-
remembering the age old story.

How ages ago, in a land afar,
three wise men followed the star.
Searching for truth, faith and love,
they followed the light, in the sky above.
Wise men traveling, across that distant land.
Leaving three sets, of camel tracts in the sand.

As the cowboys travel, in that far-off cattle land.
They leave three sets, of horsetracks in the sand.
Wherever men, have chanced to be.
Cowboys on horseback, or sailors at sea.
Whether rich or poor, young or old.
Mankind searches, the truth to hold.

Dear Ella,
As I rode the ridges and draws yesterday, my heart kept thinking of you and Ed and the special love you shared.
I kind of sung a little song that I think Ed might sing for you if he were able.

I'll visit awhile with Luther and Drew,
and each ol' friend that I once knew.
We'll brand a few mavericks, that run under the rim,
Shore will be good, to set a top horse again.

Then I'll scout the canyons and draws,
where the lonesome mourning dove calls.
Till at last I find,
a big ol' pinon pine.
Where the tall canyons lean,
to shelter the gentle, singin' stream.

Who are these people called cowgirls
Well they're similar to cowboys only with longer hair and curls
Cowgirls have saddles, spurs, and stuff
But usually don't chew Copenhagen snuff
Cowgirls learn to handle livestock, ride, and rope
And to make the right moves to please the cow boss are her undying hopes Cowgirls can be seen in a big hat doing the ranch chores
But not in high fashion stores
It's not that they don't like pretty, lacy clothes
But that ugly brown coat sure feels good when the cold wind blows Town girls wear Calvin Klein's and Seattle Blues
But cowgirls jeans have pockets with big W's
Cowgirls aren't as good as cowboys with big, rank colts
But they ride what they can and live with the lumps and jolts
Cowgirls can hold their own at a branding fire
And work with cowboys even when they're dirty and tired
Cowgirls leave to cowboys to handle barroom fights
But they do like to drink and dance on a western Saturday night

Days are sometimes long for these ladies on the west
Work gets hard but they try their best
Cowgirls like cowboys sometimes get bucked off
And no matter what the shape of your behind, landing is never soft
No cowgirls aren't as strong and tough
But they try with all their heart and by God that's enough
There's one thing to be a good cowboy no matter what your sex

Down thru California run the high Sierra peaks
I've been there to see the morning sun's golden streaks
It's high, beautiful, clear, and clean
The finest of mother nature's work that I've ever seen
You can feel the tough pure immensity
Steep rugged mountains filled with crystal lakes and dotted by trees
In the early dawn there's very little sound
As I'm still in my bed rolled out on the ground
The horses and mules are loose that I've brought in with me
I poke my head out and my night horse I'm relieved to see
Time to get up, my stock I must go gather
But to stay in this warm bed I'd surely rather

I know it's time to go and get my saddle
And in the cold frosty dawn my horse I'll soon be astraddle
It's early and cold and I'm sure craving that coffee pot
I'd love to go and tend it but I must not
My stock I must hurry and find
Cause if they leave me, I'll be in an awful bind
I trot my horse off and the only sound
Are his hoofs over the frosty ground
I ride on thru the granite rock listening for the bell
For its old familiar tinkle my soul I'd probably sell
I top a ridge and finally spot them all
Then I lope around them and into a line they fall

The stock heads back to camp, they know where they're supposed to go
This isn't a western movie or a TV show
We're hitting a high lope ducking thru the trees
The stock knows camp is where their grain will be
And in the back of my mind is that steaming coffee pot
Boy I wish it would be ready, but I know that it will not
I think about that fire and wish it would come to life while I was gone
Riding after stock in the coolness of dawn
In camp the stock mills around as I feed them grain
I glance at that dead fire with longing and pain
I finally get the horses and mules caught and tied up neat
I go to build the fire on rapid moving feet

With fire blazing the coffee is on the brew
When it's done, in my frozen fingers a cup will be stuck like glue
That is surely one of life's biggest treats
Sipping hot coffee and warming cold feet
Now you can keep your whiskey, Pepsi, and wine too
I'll keep my camp coffee pot made of granite blue
I take in the beauty looking all around
And think of the people living on the low lying flat ground
They have modem technology to make their lives an ease
But design a remote controlled camp fire if it's me you want to please
RT