Glenn Ohrlin
My home's in Montana
I wear a bandana
My spurs are of silver
My pony is gray
While riding the ranges
My luck never changes
With foot in the stirrup I'll gallop away
When valleys are dusty
My pony is trusty
He lopes through the blizzards
The snow in his ears.
The cattle may scatter
But what does it matter
My rope is a halter for pig-headed steers
When far from the ranches
I chop the pine branches
To heap on the campfire
As daylight grows pale
When I have partaken
Of beans and of bacon
I'll whistle a merry old song of the trail
My home's in Montana
I wear a bandana
My spurs are of silver
My pony is gray
While riding the ranges
My luck never changes
With foot in the stirrup I'll gallop away