Come, dry up your grumbles
And try not to lag;
Come, now for the steers in the long chaparral,
For we're far on the way to the railroad corral!
The afternoon shadows are starting to lean
When the grub-wagon sticks in a marshy ravine
And the herd scatters further than vision can look,
For you bet all true punchers will help out the cook!
So shake out your rawhide
And snake it up fair;