Oak Brush

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