Cypress Hills and the Big Country

You can see the bear paws, the old man on his back
Prickly pears blue moon in the short and native grass
There's a bunch of empty beer cans in an old, loose mineral sack
Give you some idea of where you're at

Buck brush and sage, far as you can see
It's the south slopes of the hills and turns to pines and poplar trees
Cattle all a-grazing up and down a big coulee
Under Charley Russel skies like a blue and purple sea

Cypress hills and the big country below
Where life is still, and a man can be alone
And you can duck underneath all your trials and troubles for a time
Like a pronghorn underneath a bottom wire

Cypress hills and the big country below
Where life is still, and a man can be alone
You can duck underneath all your trials and troubles for a time
Like a pronghorn underneath a bottom wire

You can sweat and cuss and wonder why
They say our west has died
When the folks around the cypress hills
Still drag calves to the fire