I ride an old paint,
I lead an old band,
I'm going to Montana to throw the hooligan.
They feed in the coolies,
they water in the draw,
their tails are all matted, their backs
are all raw.
Ride around little doggies,
ride around them slow,
for the fiery and snuffy
are raring
to go.
Old Bill
Jones had a daughter and a son,
son went to college and the daughter
went wrong,
his wife got killed in a pool room fight,
but still he keeps singing from
morning till night.
Ride around little doggies,
ride around them slow,
for the fiery and snuffy
are raring to go.
I worked in the city,
worked on the farm,
all I got to show is
this muscle in my arm,
blisters on my feet,
callus on my hands, and I'm going to
Montana to throw the hooligan.
Ride around little doggies,
ride around them slow,
for the fiery and snuffy are raring to go.
I'm going to die,
take my saddle from the wall,
put it on my pony,
bleed him out of his stall,
tie my bones to his back,
turn our faces to the west,
and we'll ride the prairie that we love the best.