Old Time vaquero, what do you mean to me?
When you look through milky blue eyes, that never really see.
Old time vaquero, what do you mean to me?
A relic left over from the last century.
Oh, you could tell some tales to a youngster like me,
Please Mister, tell me your life's history.
Scuffed boots and old hat, ancient A fork saddle,
Times have been changing way too fast for this vaquero.
No one wants to hire an old timer like me,
Throw me out the window, you young folks please,
And I could show those rodeo kids, how to ride them broncs,
Show those team ropers, how to make a steer stop.
And I could tell some tales, about the West when it was wild,
But I'm just an old vaquero, who no one wants to hear...anymore.
I ran with Will James, I sang with the coyotes,
I rescued dusky maidens from the bad man's clutches.
Now I'm an old man sitting here alone,
Nobody wants to hear my tales about how the West wasn't won,
So long ago, so long ago.
Chased those wild Caballos, across the big Owyhee,
Man I wish was back in that rolling sagebrush sea.
I miss the thrill of the chase, I miss my old time friends,
But most of the time, I miss the feel of that wild Nevada wind,
It's blowing down across Idaho to the old YP,
I wish it could blow away time and bring the desert back to me.
Some buckaroos like Will became well known,
But most lived out their days longing for their desert home.
And sonny thank you for your time, it was nice that you would ask,
But if you want the truth, you'll have to live the cowboy task.
So pack up your gear and find a place out in the sagebrush sea,
And once you feel that Nevada wind, you'll know the pain inside of me.
Old time Vaquero, now I understand,
What the Nevada desert means to a broken old man...