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