Fake Cowboy

I’d be a fake cowboy if I lived in the west 200 years ago

   I like the idea of it, though

I like the image

   But when it comes down to it

I reckon I’m too yellow to be a real cowboy

   I reckon I wouldn’t survive very long in the wild west

Someone would put a bounty out for me

    I bet I would pull that trigger whenever I got scared

I put I’d get on my horse and ride away quickly

   I bet I’d never stay in one place for too long

And I bet I’d act too strong

    If I was a cowboy

I’d probably be a shit one

    A fake one

A stranger

    A daydreaming sonofabitch

I bet I’d spend most of my time in the saloons

    Chasing chicks and playing poker

And I’d camp out under the stars most nights

   With a little fire, my horse, and a small tent

Under the stars every night

    Under the old sky

What I wouldn’t give to live under the old sky . . .

   I bet I’d just ride 

And ride

   And ride

And ride

   And ride

All through the country

   I bet I would ride my horse all alone

All around the damn west

    I think I’d enjoy having a horse 

I bet that’s true

    I bet I’d smoke the peace pipe with the native americans

I’d never hunt them

    Hell no

I know better than that

   I’d trade the skin from the animals I’d hunt

For some of their beading

    I really do like their beading

It’s so damn detailed 

   It really is

Maybe I’d protect a tribe or two 

   Pick a peaceful tribe

One that usually moves and hides

   And I’d fall in love with one of their ladies

And she’d have my baby

    And I’d be cowboy who hangs around with the natives

I’d smoke cigarettes

   And chew tobacco 

I’d have a dog

   Of course I’d have a dog 

. . . That doesn't sound like too bad of a life to me . . . 

I wouldn’t be the most yellow person out on the trail, I reckon that's true.

CH 12/9/24