Well, the wind's too high to brand today

can't even start a fire

It ain't rained in three damn months

so I'm here patching this barbed wire

And I'd hate to think what'd happen

if I actually starved to death

But at least my horses and my cattle won't

I got thirty-six bales left

Yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey

This here land was my grandpa's until I turned sixteen

He handed it down to my daddy, who passed it down to me

And I wasted most of my youth toiling time away

Feeding Braford cows and baling coastal hay

Said yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey

Well, this land is cut by the river, the damned ol' trinity

When she gets to feeling mad, Lord, she sure gets deep

And there's dirt on my girt, and blood on my saddle horn

This life, it might not be for you

but this is where I was born

Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey

It was the spring of 1925, a cold and cloudy day

Twelve cowboys came riding in to take this land away

Daddy grabbed a shotgun, and I grabbed a. 22

And I buried all twelve men that day, and I buried daddy too

Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey

I married in the fall of 1933

She gave me two strong, young boys who both looked up to me

And I taught 'em how to work this land

and how to read the sky

And they'll still be here with my grandkids long after I die

Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Well, this land is cut by the river, the damned ol' trinity

And when she gets to feeling mad, Lord, she sure gets deep

And there's dirt on their girts

and blood on their saddle horns

This life, it might not be for you

but this is where they were born

Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey

Someday soon, they'll lay me down 'neath that old oak tree

Point me towards the west

and this is what I hope you'll sing

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey