He sat by the campfire down in old Arizona
Just a few miles from Cottonwood, on a mild summer night
And he gazed at those heavenly campfires above
Small points of infinite light
He thought of his life and how it had gone
All in all he had no thoughts of changing too much
He’d done quite a bit more than most men, he thought
He had cowboyed and drifted and such
And his thoughts drifted then to just how it would end
Would he go out alone or be with his old pards?
Would he pay for his errors and head down below
Or be lucky and head for the stars
He pulled out a flask from his saddlebags then
And toasted his friends that he’d rode with before
And he wondered if they’d come to wish him goodbye
When he finally passed through the door
I hope there’s a bunch and I hope they don’t whine
Cause mournin’s no good for a cowhand out West
There’s too much to see and too much to get done
You should lay your pards quickly to rest
He thought maybe he’d like his old Cavalry suit
That he wore as a young man all those long years ago
They could polish his buttons and his saber and spurs
And play the old bugle calls low
Just a quick adios at the graveside would work
Then the cowboys could hit the saloon for the wake
Tell stories about him and laugh till they cried
And holler and drink for his sake
One cowboy don’t matter much all things considered
Just a tumbleweed wearing some spurs and a hat
He rolls cross the plains with the wind and the sun
When he’s gone well, that’s pretty much that
No monuments gleaming or books full of praise
Of the big West, a cowboy is just a small part
When he’s gone if he’s lucky his old pards just might
Keep a piece of him close in their hearts
