They go to the ball-room, and swing the pretty girls around;
They ride their bucking broncos, and wear their broad-brimmed hats;
Their California saddles, their pants below their boots,
You can hear their spurs go jing-a-ling, or perhaps somebody shoots.
Come all you soft and tenderfeet, if you want to have some fun,
Come go among the cowboys and they'll show you how it's done;
But take the kind advice of me as I gave it to you before,
For if you don't, they'll order you off with an old Colt's forty-four.
Bob Stanford, he's a Texas boy,
He lives down on the flat;
His trade is running a well-drill,
But he's none the worse for that.
He is neither rich nor handsome,
But, unlike the city dude,
His manners they are pleasant
Instead of flip and rude.
His people live in Texas,
That is his native home,
But like many other Western lads
He drifted off from home.
He came out to New Mexico
A fortune for to make,
He punched the bottom out of the earth
And never made a stake.
So he came to Arizona
And again set up his drill
To punch a hole for water,
And he's punching at it still.
He says he is determined
To make the business stick
Or spend that derned old well machine
And all he can get on tick.
I hope he is successful
And I'll help him if I can,
For I admire pluck and ambition
In an honest working man.