In the bottom of the canyon
At the old blue cattle-guard gate
To the top of Comical Ridge
Where the sunrise can't wait
And all along the Right Hand Fork road
Diggin' deep into the paint
Well, it's anywhere you're lookin'
And it's everywhere you ain't

And I've got these sheep and cattle
They don't seem like all that much
Ten thousand dusty acres of
That old gray-brown oak brush

It eats your chaps and saddle
And your tapaderos too
Puts a red burn on your face and hide
And scuff marks in your boots
It's porcupines and falcons
And a brand new mule deer fawn
It was here before the day I came
It'll be here when I'm gone

And these sheep and wild damn cattle
Don't seem like all that much
For forty years of fightin' through
That old gray-brown oak brush

But I don't know where I'd be if I wasn't here right now
A farmer in a valley cussin' at my plow
Or in some damned old city starin' at the wall
Up in a high rise building wishin' it would fall
And I know my time's a comin'
'Though I ain't in any rush
They'll plant my bones six feet below
That old gray-brown oak brush
They'll plant my bones six feet below
That old gray-brown oak brush



© 2006 Red Cliffs Press Music (BMI) / Silversongs West Music (BMI).
All rights reserved. Used by permission.