His hair is black as a Texas night,
eyes as blue as Montana skies.
Looking down those lucky strikes,
he blows a puff
with a blank disguise.
The stubble's white on his chiseled chin,
like the mountain air,
his hair is thin.
But she loves this man for what's within.
Not what she sees,
but who he's been.
He's just an old discarded cowboy,
the one you see at the run down 5 and dime.
Weathered by the midday sun,
too far gone as a hired gun.
Discarded like a worn out storyline,
but you should have seen him in his crime.
This cardboard cowboy's mine.
His body's not what it used to be,
but what's inside makes the man you see.
Ain't it funny how we might disagree,
but through it all,
you'll come around for me.
He's just an old discarded cowboy,
the one you see at the run down
5 and dime.
Weathered by the midday sun,
too far gone as a hired gun.
Discarded like a worn out storyline,
but you should have seen him in his crime.
This cardboard cowboy's mine.
He's just an old discarded cowboy,
the one you see at the run down 5 and dime.
Weathered by the midday sun,
too far gone as a hired gun.
Discarded like a worn out storyline,
but you should have seen him in his crime.
This cardboard cowboy's mine.
Yeah, he's mine.
Cardboard cowboy.
Oh,
he's mine.
Cardboard cowboy.
He's mine.
Cardboard cowboy.