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
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 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