The Cowboy

I knew a cowboy, way back when,
at least he said he was.
He had the hat and talked real slow
the way a cowboy does.

He also wore those cowboy boots,
the ones I’d wished I wore.
He had to duck his head a bit
when he walked in the door.

With his hat on and with those boots
that guy was mighty tall.
All of us kids stared up at him;
he sure impressed us all.

He had so many tales to tell.
He swore they all were true.
I wasn’t sure of some of them.
Well, maybe one or two.

He even smoked those cigarettes.
I thought that he looked tough.
And when he spun his yarns to us
his voice was raspy rough.

He had a worn and weathered look,
like he’d been on the trail.
He squinted as he calmly told
of winds, and rain and hail.

Those cattle drives could cause a man
to struggle all his life.
He never had the time or means
to find himself a wife.

But if he did it all again
he wouldn’t change a day.
He did what he was born to do,
he just was made that way.

All that was many years ago,
but I could not forget.
I always did look up to him,
this cowboy that I met.

Well, now I learned he was a fraud.
My uncle just told me.
Yeah, all those tales and all that talk
were just a fantasy.

That image that he wore so well
was just a great big lie.
As for those Marlboros he smoked,
well, they caused him to die.

He never even rode a horse.
He was a city guy.
And yet he made us all believe.
You have to wonder why.

My uncle said it was his dream,
the life he wished he had.
And for a while his dream came true.
You know that can’t be bad.

So he was not a real cowboy,
he merely played the part.
But in his soul that’s what he was,
oh yes, and in his heart.

Yippie Yi Yo Kayah