LAST OF THE WEST KANSAS COWBOYS
Roust out, we’re burning daylight
Horses don’t saddle themselves
Dust in the blood, boots in the mud
Kicking up spent shotgun shells
Sure ain’t no step for a stepper
Sun up and out riding pens
Never alone when he’s out on the road
Every stranger he meets is a friend
Last of the west Kansas cowboys
Last of the old so-and-so’s
Last of his kind you’ll ever see ‘round
Greatest one you’ll ever know
Thrown more than once from the saddle
Been busted. Hell, he nearly died
But a cowboy, of course gets back on his horse
The hurt that’s the worst is your pride.
Last of the west Kansas cowboys
Last of the old so-and-so’s
Last of his kind you’ll ever see ‘round
Greatest one you’ll ever know
A thousand miles, four wheels on gyp rock
Beats fourteen hours out plowing dirt
Now the years and the days are slipping away
But a cowboy never tells you when he hurts
Last of the west Kansas cowboys
Living the last of the years
When he’s really gone, I’ll still carry on
But I’ll fill the Ogallala with my tears
With my tears
This is a song about my father, who was a cowboy in every sense of the word. My earliest memories are him heading out before sunrise to ride the pens at the feedyard, checking and caring for sick cattle. He trained horses. He farmed. He was a rural mail carrier, and later a travelling salesman.
He passed shortly away after I wrote this song, after a long battle with Alzheimer's.
Much of the songs is made up of his trademark colloquialisms. The 'Ogallala' referenced in the song is the Ogallala Aquifer, the massive aquifer that sits under the High Plains, and which supplies water the more arid parts of America's breadbasket. Industrial farming has been draining this resource for more than 50 years, and the aquifer is being drained faster than it can be replenished.
Ted 'T.P' Crist
1943-2019