I ride an old paint

American

I ride an old paint, I lead an old dan,
I'm goin' to Montana, to throw the hoolihan,
They feed in the coulees, they water in the draw,
Their tails are all matted, their backs are all raw.

Ride around, ride around real slow,
For the fiery and snuffy are a-rarin' to go.


Old Bill Graham had two daughters and a song,
One went to Denver, and the other went wrong,
His wife she died in a pool-room fight,
But still he keeps singing from morning till night.

Oh when I die, take my saddle from the wall,
Put it on my pony and lead him from his stall,
Tie my bones to his back, turn our faces to the west,
And we'll ride the prairie that we like the best.