On the Chisolm trail,

Up from Texas Oklahoma,

Somewhere over that horizon

West West

A blue-eyed-Betty

Waits in that house of the rising sun.

While lonesome strangers on horseback,

Searching always watching

Are Working overtime for back pay.

The trail ends here.

Gone the way of the old saloon,

Or maybe Geronimo and Sittingbull,

All the rest....move west, move west.

We're starving for just one more,

Another chance to live.

Progress.

Someone traded Iron horses for outlaws,

Fences for Range,

Small Beads and Small pox

For far more than land...

Indian givers one and all.