Cypress Hills and the Big Country

You can see the bear paws, the old man on his back Prickly pears blue moon in the short and native grass There's a bunch of empty beer cans in an old, loose mineral sack Give you some idea of where you're at Buck brush and sage, far as you can see It's the south slopes of the hills and turns to pines and poplar trees Cattle all a-grazing up and down a big coulee Under Charley Russel skies like a blue and purple sea Cypress hills and the big country below Where life is still, and a man can be alone And you can duck underneath all your trials and troubles for a time Like a pronghorn underneath a bottom wire Cypress hills and the big country below Where life is still, and a man can be alone You can duck underneath all your trials and troubles for a time Like a pronghorn underneath a bottom wire You can sweat and cuss and wonder why They say our west has died When the folks around the cypress hills Still drag calves to the fire