A Cowboy In His Soul (Bradley Walker)
He was a good hand breakin’ horses, pure poison with a rope
He lives for strong black coffee and the rollin’ of his smokes
He throws a leg up on ol’ Ranger, sticks a rile into his hide
Saddled there in his easy chair through his memory he still rides

While shakin’ out a good loop, he flicks his ashes on the floor
He’s a’ brandin’ for Sam Williams, who he loved workin’ for
In the air he draws a picture with a cigarette in his hand
As his fingers make the last stroke, in the smoke I see the brand

Whoopy ti yi aye is not his way, he didn’t choose his line of work
There’s no silver on his saddle and no fringe upon his shirt
Well I’d give the world to be like him, born 90 years ago
‘Cause when the Master’s hands made this man, he put a cowboy in his soul

In the middle of his stories he pushes out of his chair
Shuffles out to the barn and hollers me out there
He points up to his saddle in that dusty hideaway
He says he’d like to give it to me, but he might need it someday

Whoopy ti yi aye is not his way, he didn’t choose his line of work
There’s no silver on his saddle and no fringe upon his shirt
Well I’d give the world to be like him, born 90 years ago
‘Cause when the Master’s hands made this man, he put a cowboy in his soul

Well I’d give the world to be like him, born 90 years ago
‘Cause when the Master’s hands made this man, he put a cowboy in his soul