I ride an old paint, lead an old dam,
Goin' to Montana to throw the houlihan.
Feed 'em in the coulees, and water in the draw,
Tails are all matted and their backs are all raw.
Ride around, little dogies, ride around them slow,
They're fiery and snuffy and a-rarin' to go.
Old Bill Jones had two daughters and a song,
One went to college, and the other went wrong.
His wife got killed in a free-for-all fight,
Still he keeps singin' from mornin' till night.
I've worked in your town, worked on your farm,
And all I got to show is the muscle in my arm,
Blisters on my feet, and the callous on my hand,
And I'm a-goin' to Montana to throw the houlihan.
When I die, take my saddle from the wall,
Put it on my pony, lead him out of his stall.
Tie my bones to his back, turn our faces to the west,
We'll ride the prairie that we loved the best.