The rangers are covered with a purple gown, As I ride through the hills today. The breezes are chilly as the sun goes down, And we know that winter's on its way. When the days grow shorter and the nights grow long, I'll dream beside my campfire then, Leisurely strumming on my old guitar, And the winter winds are blowing again. When the winter winds are blowing from the west, And the pale moon rises o'er the mountain crest, I'll cover my pony with a rug of fur, Roll up in my blanket then, For summer is over and the nights grow long, And the winter winds are blowing again. The silence is broken by a dingo's call, Way up in the mountains high. The cattle are bedded by the waterfall, To the rangeland I'll never say goodbye. When the days grow shorter and the nights grow long, I'll dream beside my campfire then, Leisurely strumming on my old guitar, And the winter winds are blowing again. When the winter winds are blowing from the west, And the pale moon rises o'er the mountain crest, I'll cover my pony with a rug of fur, Roll up in my blanket then, For summer is over and the nights grow long, And the winter winds are blowing again. Thank you for watching!