When The Bloom Is On The Sage

Do most folks spare the spot that lives forever
Deep down in their fondest memories
Though I have been roaming I have never
Seen a place where I would rather be

When it’s roundup time in Texas
And the bloom is on the sage
Then I long to be in Texas
Back a riding on the range
Just to smell the bacon frying
When its sizzling in the pan
Hear the breakfast hour in the early morn
Drinking coffee from a can

Just a-ridin rockin ropin
Pounding leather all day long
just a swayin sweating smearin
Listen to a cowboy song

Now it beckons and I reckon
I would work for any wage
To be free again just to be again
Where the bloom is on the sage

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