I ain’t a singing feller, but when the thunder is hollerin’ I holler back. Tain’t in the hymnal, but I reckon this here song is all right.
They speak of another great round-up
where cowboys like dogies will stand
to be marked by the riders of judgment
they’re savvy and know every brand
We’re all little dogies, and aint nothing like being cut out and drove into heaven’s herd.