De-oh-de-lay-ee-oh-de-lay-ee-de-oh-de-lay-ee
In the lobby of a big Hotel in the New York town one day
Sat a bunch of fellows telling yarns to pass the time away
They told of places where they'd been and the different sites they'd seen
Some of them frae Chicago town, and others New Orleans
In the corner in an old armchair, sat a man whose hair was gray
He listened to them eagerly, to what they had to say
They asked him whеre he'd like to bе, his clear old voice did ring
Boy, I'd like to be in Texas for the roundup in the spring
I see the cattle grazing o'er the hills at early morn
I see the campfires smoking at the breaking of the dawn
I hear the bronco's neighing, I hear the cowboy sing
Oh, I'd like to be in Texas when they roundup in the spring
(Yodel solo)
I'd like to sleep my last long sleep with mother earth for bed
My saddle for a pillow, the bright stars overhead
There I would hear the last stampede, and the songs the rivers sings
Way back down in Texas when they roundup in the spring
I see the cattle grazing o'er the hills at early morn
I see the campfires smoking at the breaking of the dawn
I hear the bronco's neighing, and I hear the cowboy sing
Way back down in Texas when they roundup in the spring
In the lobby of a big Hotel in the New York town one day
Sat a bunch of fellows telling yarns to pass the time away
They told of places where they'd been and the different sites they'd seen
Some of them frae Chicago town, and others New Orleans
In the corner in an old armchair, sat a man whose hair was gray
He listened to them eagerly, to what they had to say
They asked him whеre he'd like to bе, his clear old voice did ring
Boy, I'd like to be in Texas for the roundup in the spring
I see the cattle grazing o'er the hills at early morn
I see the campfires smoking at the breaking of the dawn
I hear the bronco's neighing, I hear the cowboy sing
Oh, I'd like to be in Texas when they roundup in the spring
(Yodel solo)
I'd like to sleep my last long sleep with mother earth for bed
My saddle for a pillow, the bright stars overhead
There I would hear the last stampede, and the songs the rivers sings
Way back down in Texas when they roundup in the spring
I see the cattle grazing o'er the hills at early morn
I see the campfires smoking at the breaking of the dawn
I hear the bronco's neighing, and I hear the cowboy sing
Way back down in Texas when they roundup in the spring
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