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