In the lobby of a big hotel in New York Town, one day
Sat a bunch of fellows telling yarns, to pa** the time away
They told of places where they'd been and different things they'd seen
Some preferred Chicago Town, while others New Orleans I can see the cattle grazing o'er the hills at early morn
I can see the campfires smoking at the breaking of the dawn
I can hear the bronco's neighing, I can hear the cowboy sing
I'd like to be in Texas for the roundup in the spring In a corner in an old armchair, sat a man whose hair was gray
He listened to them eagerly, to what they had to say
They asked him where he'd like to be, his clear old voice did ring
I'd like to be in Texas for the roundup in the spring I can see the cattle grazing o'er the hills at early morn
I can see the campfires smoking at the breaking of the dawn
I can hear the bronco's neighing, I can hear the cowboy sing
I'd like to be in Texas for the roundup in the spring They sat and listened carefully to each word he had to say
They knew the old man sitting there, had been a top hand in his day
They asked him for a story of his life out on the plains
Slowly he removed his hat then quietly began I've seen 'em stampede o'er the hills till you'd think they'd never stop
I've seen 'em run for miles and miles until their leader dropped
I was a foreman of a cow ranch, the calling of a king
I'd like to be in Texas for the roundup in the spring I can see the cattle grazing o'er the hills at early morn
I can see the campfires smoking at the breaking of the dawn
I can hear the bronco's neighing, I can hear the cowboy sing
I'd like to be in Texas for the roundup in the spring I'd like to sleep my last long sleep with mother earth for bed
My saddle for a pillow, the bright stars overhead
Then I could hear the last stampede, the songs of rivers sing
Way back down in Texas for the roundup in the spring