Now, I ain't no spring chicken; heaven knows, I been around.
Ain't never crossed no ocean, but I doubt that there's a town
that I have missed, in fifty years of runnin' to and fro
from the Yukon down to Yucatan; Key West to Idaho.

Of all the places I have seen, from childhood to t'day,
Ain't none as fine as Texas, boy -- I don't care what you say!
The Lone Star State's the place where I was born and partly raised;
I knew that I'd come back when it come time to mend my ways.

For two years, I hauled livestock: Omaha to Calgary.
Took up with this Alberta gal who was mighty good to me.
But she was lookin' to get hitched; I was lookin' to get laid.
We did things my way, for awhile, but I knew if I stayed

she'd tie me up and pin me down and never let me go,
so I just up and left her, and took off for Mexico.
'Got drunk one night in Vera Cruz and was barkin' at the moon;
the Federales chased me south; I wound up in Cancun.

I liked Ol' Mexico just fine, but I had no cash on hand.
There weren't no jobs for Gringos: Time to cross the Rio Grande.
I hitchhiked north to Brownsville, then on up to San Antone.
(My sister's husband, Harold, had agreed to float a loan.)