Lonesome Dove

So the Lonesome Dove boys are riding away,
From the dry Texas dirt to the northern cold gray.
Three thousand longhorns, a band of brave fools,
Living by ancient and hard unwritten rules.
It’s a long, dusty trail to the Yellowstone skies,
Where a legend is forged, and a good Ranger dies.

They gathered a herd in the moonlight's pale glow,
Borrowing stock from old Mexico.
Young Newt in the saddle, just wanting a name,
From the stoic old Captain who swallowed the shame.
Lorena the beauty, she followed along,
Thinking Jake Spoon was a protective song.
But the journey was brutal and paid with a toll,
And the snakes in the river claimed one Irish soul.

Then out in the brush, Blue Duck lay in wait,
A savage old demon of terror and hate.
He stole sweet Lorena and made her his prize,
While Jake played his poker, ignoring the lies.
But Gus grabbed his Walker and followed the track,
Riding through hell just to bring the girl back.
Then Jake threw his lot with a murdering crew,
And Call and McCrae did what lawmen must do.

Oh, the Lonesome Dove boys keep riding away,
From the dry Texas dirt to the northern cold gray.
Three thousand longhorns, a band of brave fools,
Living by ancient and hard unwritten rules.
It’s a long, bloody trail to the Yellowstone skies,
Where a legend is forged, and a good Ranger dies.

Then loyal Josh Deets, the heart of the drive,
Met death by a lance he had tried to survive.
And out in the Nebraska freezing front gate,
Gus kissed Lorena and left her to fate.
Montana was rugged, a beautiful dream,
They rested the herd by a crystalline stream.
But Gus rode the ridge where the deep grasses blow,
And took two sharp arrows from a shadowed bow.

The saw took a leg, but McCrae wouldn’t yield,
Said, "I won't live a half-man and sit in a field."
He turned to his partner, his breath fading down,
And laid on his brother a heavy new crown:
"Take me to Texas where my life was crowned,
To rest in the shade of the old picnic ground."

Woodrow pressed onward and finished the drive,
Thankful a few of his men were alive.
He left the new ranch to young Newt, his own blood,
Who had proven a man through the ice and the mud.
Then a lonely wood wagon rolled out in the thaw,
Driven by promises heavier than law.
Three thousand miles to the South he must ride,
With his friend's salted bones strapped fast to his side.

Through plains and through rivers, through tempest and flood,
Woodrow brought Gus back to sweet Texas mud.
The Lonesome Dove sign had been burned to the ground,
And only a memory was left in the town.
Now the cowboys are ghosts, and the wild grasses fall...
But there lives the legend of McCrae and Call.
Yeah, there lives the legend... of McCrae and Call...

3161/7500

Down in the dust of the Mexican line, The Hat Creek outfit was killing the time. Selling some cattle and stealing the rest, Just two aging Rangers, the wild frontier’s best. There was Woodrow F. Call with his jaw set to stone, And Augustus McCrae never drinking alone. Then Jake Spoon rode in on a tired-out dun, A ghost from their past in the blistering sun. He talked of Montana, of grass deep and sweet, A land pure and wild, for the lawmen to meet. So the Lonesome Dove boys are riding away, From the dry Texas dirt to the northern cold gray. Three thousand longhorns, a band of brave fools, Living by ancient and hard unwritten rules. It’s a long, dusty trail to the Yellowstone skies, Where a legend is forged, and a good Ranger dies. They gathered a herd in the moonlight's pale glow, Borrowing stock from old Mexico. Young Newt in the saddle, just wanting a name, From the stoic old Captain who swallowed the shame. Lorena the beauty, she followed along, Thinking Jake Spoon was a protective song. But the journey was brutal and paid with a toll, And the snakes in the river claimed one Irish soul. Then out in the brush, Blue Duck lay in wait, A savage old demon of terror and hate. He stole sweet Lorena and made her his prize, While Jake played his poker, ignoring the lies. But Gus grabbed his Walker and followed the track, Riding through hell just to bring the girl back. Then Jake threw his lot with a murdering crew, And Call and McCrae did what lawmen must do. Oh, the Lonesome Dove boys keep riding away, From the dry Texas dirt to the northern cold gray. Three thousand longhorns, a band of brave fools, Living by ancient and hard unwritten rules. It’s a long, bloody trail to the Yellowstone skies, Where a legend is forged, and a good Ranger dies. Then loyal Josh Deets, the heart of the drive, Met death by a lance he had tried to survive. And out in the Nebraska freezing front gate, Gus kissed Lorena and left her to fate. Montana was rugged, a beautiful dream, They rested the herd by a crystalline stream. But Gus rode the ridge where the deep grasses blow, And took two sharp arrows from a shadowed bow. The saw took a leg, but McCrae wouldn’t yield, Said, "I won't live a half-man and sit in a field." He turned to his partner, his breath fading down, And laid on his brother a heavy new crown: "Take me to Texas where my life was crowned, To rest in the shade of the old picnic ground." Woodrow pressed onward and finished the drive, Thankful a few of his men were alive. He left the new ranch to young Newt, his own blood, Who had proven a man through the ice and the mud. Then a lonely wood wagon rolled out in the thaw, Driven by promises heavier than law. Three thousand miles to the South he must ride, With his friend's salted bones strapped fast to his side. Through plains and through rivers, through tempest and flood, Woodrow brought Gus back to sweet Texas mud. The Lonesome Dove sign had been burned to the ground, And only a memory was left in the town. Now the cowboys are ghosts, and the wild grasses fall... But there lives the legend of McCrae and Call. Yeah, there lives the legend... of McCrae and Call...

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