Over the Ranges and Into the West
Let others sing praise of their sea-girted isles,
But give me the bush with its limitless miles;
Then it’s over the ranges and into the West,
To the scenes of wild boyhood; we love them the best.
We’ll ride and we’ll ride from the city afar,
To the plains where the cattle and sheep stations are;
Where stockmen ride hard, and the drover starts forth
On his long, lonely journey ’way up in the North.
When your money is low, and your luck has gone down,
There’s no place so lone as the streets of a town;
There’s nothing but worry, and dread and unrest,
So we’ll over the ranges and into the West.
The drought in the West may spread ruin around,
But the dread drought of life in the city is found;
And I’d far sooner tread on the long dusty way,
Where each one you meet says, “Good day, mate, good day.”
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I Want To Be A Cowboy's Sweetheart
I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart
I want to learn to rope and ride
I want to ride o'er the plains and deserts
Out west of the Great Divide
I want to hear the coyotes howling
While the sun sets in the west
I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart
The life I love the best
I want to ride old Paint, goin' on a run
I want to feel the wind in my face
A thousand miles from all the city lights
Go at a cowhand's pace
I want to pillow my head near the sleeping herd
While the moon shines down from above
I want to strum my guitar, yodel-lay-ee-oo
That's the life I love
song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad of the Black-Sheep
A black-sheep, from England, who worked on the run –
Riding where the stockmen ride –
He sat by the hut when the day’s work was done –
Lone huts where the black sheep bide.
“I’m tired of my life!” to his lone self said he,
“My girl and my country are both done with me!”
“I’m tired of my life!” to the wide scrubs said he –
“My girl and my country are long done with me!”
He took from a packet a portrait and curl –
Such things as the exiles keep –
And sadly he gazed at the face of the girl –
Lost girl of a lost black-sheep.
“I’ll go where there’s fighting and die there!” said he;
“My girl and my country are well rid of me.
“I’ll go where there’s fighting and die there,” said he;
“For heart-break and country that’s well rid of me!”
He rode with a thousand, he rode with the best –
Riding as bushmen ride –
Who’d ridden alone on the wastes of the West –
Wide wastes where the drought-fiends bide,
They rode as they’d ride to an up-country ball,
And the laugh of the black-sheep was lightest of all!
The road was a shambles, the hill was a hell –
Red rosed where the reckless ride –
And he with the foremost lay torn by a shell –
(Die hard where your father died!)
“the death of a rebel!” he laughed as he groaned –
“for the land that adoptee – the land that disowned!”
the death of a black-sheep! – they laugh as they groan –
for the lands that adopt and the lands that disown!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Never-Never Country
By homestead, hut, and shearing-shed,
By railroad, coach, and track --
By lonely graves of our brave dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where 'neath glorious the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand --
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In the Never-Never Land.
It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the sky-line sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand --
A phantom land, a mystic land!
The Never-Never Land.
Where lone Mount Desolation lies,
Mounts Dreadful and Despair --
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor'-west by No-Man's-Land --
Where clouds are seldom seen --
To where the cattle-stations lie
Three hundred miles between.
The drovers of the Great Stock Routes
The strange Gulf country know --
Where, travelling from the southern drought
The big lean bullocks go;
And camped by night where plains lie wide,
Like some old ocean's bed,
The watchmen in the starlight ride
Round fifteen hundred head.
And west of named and numbered days
The shearers walk and ride --
Jack Cornstalk and the Ne'er-do-well
And the grey-beard side by side;
They veil their eyes -- from moon and stars,
And slumber on the sand --
Sad memories steep as years go round
In Never-Never Land.
By lonely huts north-west of Bourke,
Through years of flood and drought,
The best of English black-sheep work
Their own salvation out:
Wild fresh-faced boys grown gaunt and brown --
Stiff-lipped and haggard-eyed --
They live the Dead Past grimly down!
Where boundary-riders ride.
The College Wreck who sank beneath,
Then rose above his shame,
Tramps west in mateship with the man
Who cannot write his name.
'Tis there where on the barren track
No last half-crust's begrudged --
Where saint and sinner, side by side,
Judge not, and are not judged.
Oh rebels to society!
The Outcasts of the West --
Oh hopeless eyes that smile for me,
And broken hearts that jest!
The pluck to face a thousand miles --
The grit to see it through!
The communion perfected! --
And -- I am proud of you!
The Arab to true desert sand,
The Finn to fields of snow,
The Flax-stick turns to Maoriland,
While the seasons come and go;
And this old fact comes home to me --
And will not let me rest --
However barren it may be,
Your own land is the best!
And, lest at ease I should forget
True mateship after all,
My water-bag and billy yet
Are hanging on the wall;
And if my fate should show the sign
I'd tramp to sunsets grand
With gaunt and stern-eyed mates of mine
In the Never-Never Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ride Into The Sun
(reed)
Looking for another place
Somewhere else to be
Looking for another chance
To ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Where everything seems so pretty
When youre lonely and tired of the city
Remember its a flower made out of clay
To the city
Where everything seems so ugly
When your sitting at home in self pitty
Remember youre just one more person
Whos living there
Its hard to live in the city
Its hard to live in the city
Its hard to live in the city
...
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Cowboys Sweetheart
I wanna be a cowboys sweetheart
I wann learn to rope and ride
I wanna ride through the plains and the desert
Out west of the great divide
I wanna hear the coyotes singing
As the sun sets in the west
I wanna be a cowboys sweetheart
Thats the life I love the best.
I wann ride a paint
Moce it at a run
I wanna feel the wind in my face
A thousand miles away from all
Movin in the cowmans face
I wann pillow my head
Beneath the open sky
As the sun sets in the west
I wanna strum my guitar and yodel-le-hee-hee
Thats the life I love the best
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Wild West Hero
Wish I was, yeah, a wild west hero.
Sometimes I look up high and then I think there might
Just be a better life.
Away from all we know, thats where I wanna go,
Out on the wild side
And I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Ride the range all the day till the first fading light,
Be with my western girl round the fire, oh, so bright.
Id be the indians friend, let them live to be free,
Ridin into the sunset, I wish I could be.
Id ride the desert sands and through the prairie lands,
Tryn to do whats right.
The folks would come to me, theyd say, we need you here.
Id stay there for the night.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Ride the range all the day till the first fading light,
Be with my western girl round the fire, oh, so bright.
Id be the indians friend, let them live to be free,
Ridin into the sunset, I wish I could be.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Wish I was, o-o-oo-o-o-o-oo, a wild west hero.
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
West End Girls
(....forever)
Sometimes youre better off dead
Theres gun in your hand and its pointing at your head
You think youre mad, too unstable
Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables
In a restaurant in a west end town
Call the police, theres a madman around
Running down underground to a dive bar
In a west end town
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
Too many shadows, whispering voices
Faces on posters, too many choices
If, when, why, what?
How much have you got?
Have you got it, do you get it, if so, how often?
And which do you choose, a hard or soft option?
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
Oooh west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
Youve got a heart of glass or a heart of stone
Just you wait till I get you home
Weve got no future, weve got no past
Here today, built to last
In every city, in every nation
From lake geneva to the finland station
(how far have you been? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
A west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how far have you been? )
Girls
East end boys
And west end girls
And west end girls
And west end girls
East end boys
The west end girls
The west end boys
And west end girls
The west end girls
The west end boys
The west end girls
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Cuppacumalonga
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, where go you to-day?'
I go to Cuppacumalomga, fifty miles away;
Over plains where Summer rains have sung a song of glee,
Over hills where laughing rills go seeking for the sea,
I go to Cuppacumalonga, to my brother Bill.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, how do you get there?'
For twenty miles I amble on upon my pony mare,
The walk awhile and talk awhile to country men I know,
Then up to ride a mile beside a team that travels slow,
And last to Cuppacumalonga, riding with a will.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, what do you do then?'
I camp beneath a kurrajong with three good cattle-men;
Then off away at break of day, with strong hands on the reins,
To laugh and sing while mustering the cattle on the plains -
For up to Cuppacumalonga life is jolly still.
Then come along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga!
Come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
'Rover, rover, cattle-drover, how may I go too?'
I'll saddle up my creamy colt and he shall carry you -
My creamy colt who will not bolt, who does not shy nor kick -
We'll pack the load and take the road and travel very quick.
And if the day brings work or play we'll meet it with a will.
So Hi for Cuppacumalonga!
Come Along, ah, come along!
Ah, come to Cuppacumalonga Hill!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Shearers
No church-bell rings them from the Track,
No pulpit lights theirblindness--
'Tis hardship, drought, and homelessness
That teach those Bushmen kindness:
The mateship born, in barren lands,
Of toil and thirst and danger,
The camp-fare for the wanderer set,
The first place to the stranger.
They do the best they can to-day--
Take no thought of the morrow;
Their way is not the old-world way--
They live to lend and borrow.
When shearing's done and cheques gone wrong,
They call it "time to slither"--
They saddle up and say "So-long!"
And ride the Lord knows whither.
And though he may be brown or black,
Or wrong man there, or right man,
The mate that's steadfast to his mates
They call that man a "white man!"
They tramp in mateship side by side--
The Protestant and Roman--
They call no biped lord or sir,
And touch their hat to no man!
They carry in their swags perhaps,
A portrait and a letter--
And, maybe, deep down in their hearts,
The hope of "something better."
Where lonely miles are long to ride,
And long, hot days recurrent,
There's lots of time to think of men
They might have been--but weren't.
They turn their faces to the west
And leave the world behind them
(Their drought-dry graves are seldom set
Where even mates can find them).
They know too little of the world
To rise to wealth or greatness;
But in these lines I gladly pay
My tribute to their greatness.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pioneers
They came of bold and roving stock that would not fixed abide;
There were the sons of field and flock since e’er they learned to ride;
We may not hope to see such men in these degenerate years
As those explorers of the bush – the brave old pioneers.
‘Twas they who rode the trackless bush in heat and storm and drought;
‘Twas they that heard the master-word that called them further out;
‘Twas they that followed up the trail the mountain cattle made
And pressed across the mighty range where now their bones are laid.
But now the times are dull and slow, the brave old days are dead
When hardy bushmen started out, and forced their way ahead
By tangled scrub and forests grim towards the unknown west,
And spied the far off promised land from off the ranges’ crest.
Oh! Ye, that sleep in lonely graves by far-off ridge and plain,
We drink to you in silence now as Christmas comes again,
The men who fought the wilderness through rough unsettled years –
The founders of our nation’s life, the brave old pioneers.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
By Hut, Homestead And Shearing Shed,
By hut, homestead and shearing shed,
By railroad, coach and track-
By lonely graves where rest the dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where beneath the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand-
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In Never-Never Land.
It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the skyline sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand-
A phantom land, a mystic realm!
The Never-Never Land.
Where lone Mount Desolation lies
Mounts Dreadful and Despair-
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor-west by No-Man's Land
Where clouds are seldom seen
To where the cattle stations lie
Three hundred miles between.
The drovers of the Great Stock Routes
The strange Gulf country Know
Where, travelling from the southern droughts,
The big lean bullocks go;
And camped by night where plains lie wide,
Like some old ocean's bed,
The watchmen in the starlight ride
Round fifteen hundred head.
Lest in the city I forget
True mateship after all,
My water-bag and billy yet
Are hanging on the wall;
And I, to save my soul again,
Would tramp to sunsets grand
With sad-eyed mates across the plain
In Never-Never Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Never, Never Land
By hut, homestead and shearing shed,
By railroad, coach and track-
By lonely graves where rest the dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where beneath the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand-
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In Never-Never Land.
It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the skyline sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand-
A phantom land, a mystic realm!
The Never-Never Land.
Where lone Mount Desolation lies
Mounts Dreadful and Despair-
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor-west by No-Man's Land
Where clouds are seldom seen
To where the cattle stations lie
Three hundred miles between.
The drovers of the Great Stock Routes
The strange Gulf country Know
Where, travelling from the southern droughts,
The big lean bullocks go;
And camped by night where plains lie wide,
Like some old ocean's bed,
The watchmen in the starlight ride
Round fifteen hundred head.
Lest in the city I forget
True mateship after all,
My water-bag and billy yet
Are hanging on the wall;
And I, to save my soul again,
Would tramp to sunsets grand
With sad-eyed mates across the plain
In Never-Never Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On the Wallaby
Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead,
And the possums may gambol in trees overhead;
I am humping my bluey far out on the land,
And the prints of my bluchers sink deep in the sand:
I am out on the wallaby humping my drum,
And I came by the tracks where the sundowners come.
It is nor'-west and west o'er the ranges and far
To the plains where the cattle and sheep stations are,
With the sky for my roof and the grass for my bunk,
And a calico bag for my damper and junk;
And scarcely a comrade my memory reveals,
Save the spiritless dingo in tow of my heels.
But I think of the honest old light of my home
When the stars hang in clusters like lamps from the dome,
And I think of the hearth where the dark shadows fall,
When my camp fire is built on the widest of all;
But I'm following Fate, for I know she knows best,
I follow, she leads, and it's nor'-west by west.
When my tent is all torn and my blankets are damp,
And the rising flood waters flow fast by the camp,
When the cold water rises in jets from the floor,
I lie in my bunk and I list to the roar,
And I think how to-morrow my footsteps will lag
When I tramp 'neath the weight of a rain-sodden swag.
Though the way of the swagman is mostly up-hill,
There are joys to be found on the wallaby still.
When the day has gone by with its tramp or its toil,
And your camp-fire you light, and your billy you boil,
There is comfort and peace in the bowl of your clay
Or the yarn of a mate who is tramping that way.
But beware of the town -- there is poison for years
In the pleasure you find in the depths of long beers;
For the bushman gets bushed in the streets of a town,
Where he loses his friends when his cheque is knocked down;
He is right till his pockets are empty, and then --
He can hump his old bluey up country again.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ride Into The Sun
Looking for another chance
For someone else to be
Looking for another place
To ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Ride into the sun
Where -
- everything seems so pretty
But if youre tired and youre sick of the city
Remember that its just a flower
Made out of clay
Oh-oh-oh, the city -
- where everything seems so dirty
But if youre tired and youre filled with self-pity
Remember that youre just one more
Person whos there
Its hard to live in the city
Its hard to live in the city, oh, oh-oh
Its hard to live in the city, oh, wow-wow
Its hard to live in the city
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
On Kiley's Run
The roving breezes come and go
On Kiley's Run,
The sleepy river murmurs low,
And far away one dimly sees
Beyond the stretch of forest trees --
Beyond the foothills dusk and dun --
The ranges sleeping in the sun
On Kiley's Run.
'Tis many years since first I came
To Kiley's Run,
More years than I would care to name
Since I, a stripling, used to ride
For miles and miles at Kiley's side,
The while in stirring tones he told
The stories of the days of old
On Kiley's Run.
I see the old bush homestead now
On Kiley's Run,
Just nestled down beneath the brow
Of one small ridge above the sweep
Of river-flat, where willows weep
And jasmine flowers and roses bloom,
The air was laden with perfume
On Kiley's Run.
We lived the good old station life
On Kiley's Run,
With little thought of care or strife.
Old Kiley seldom used to roam,
He liked to make the Run his home,
The swagman never turned away
With empty hand at close of day
From Kiley's Run.
We kept a racehorse now and then
On Kiley's Run,
And neighb'ring stations brought their men
To meetings where the sport was free,
And dainty ladies came to see
Their champions ride; with laugh and song
The old house rang the whole night long
On Kiley's Run.
The station hands were friends I wot
On Kiley's Run,
A reckless, merry-hearted lot --
All splendid riders, and they knew
The `boss' was kindness through and through.
Old Kiley always stood their friend,
And so they served him to the end
On Kiley's Run.
But droughts and losses came apace
To Kiley's Run,
Till ruin stared him in the face;
He toiled and toiled while lived the light,
He dreamed of overdrafts at night:
At length, because he could not pay,
His bankers took the stock away
From Kiley's Run.
Old Kiley stood and saw them go
From Kiley's Run.
The well-bred cattle marching slow;
His stockmen, mates for many a day,
They wrung his hand and went away.
Too old to make another start,
Old Kiley died -- of broken heart,
On Kiley's Run.
. . . . .
The owner lives in England now
Of Kiley's Run.
He knows a racehorse from a cow;
But that is all he knows of stock:
His chiefest care is how to dock
Expenses, and he sends from town
To cut the shearers' wages down
On Kiley's Run.
There are no neighbours anywhere
Near Kiley's Run.
The hospitable homes are bare,
The gardens gone; for no pretence
Must hinder cutting down expense:
The homestead that we held so dear
Contains a half-paid overseer
On Kiley's Run.
All life and sport and hope have died
On Kiley's Run.
No longer there the stockmen ride;
For sour-faced boundary riders creep
On mongrel horses after sheep,
Through ranges where, at racing speed,
Old Kiley used to `wheel the lead'
On Kiley's Run.
There runs a lane for thirty miles
Through Kiley's Run.
On either side the herbage smiles,
But wretched trav'lling sheep must pass
Without a drink or blade of grass
Thro' that long lane of death and shame:
The weary drovers curse the name
Of Kiley's Run.
The name itself is changed of late
Of Kiley's Run.
They call it `Chandos Park Estate'.
The lonely swagman through the dark
Must hump his swag past Chandos Park.
The name is English, don't you see,
The old name sweeter sounds to me
Of `Kiley's Run'.
I cannot guess what fate will bring
To Kiley's Run --
For chances come and changes ring --
I scarcely think 'twill always be
Locked up to suit an absentee;
And if he lets it out in farms
His tenants soon will carry arms
On Kiley's Run.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ride On
Its another lonely evening
And another lonely town
But I aint too young to worry
And I aint too old to cry
When a woman gets me down
Got another empty bottle
And another empty bed
Aint too young to admit it
And Im not too old to lie
Im just another empty head
Thats why Im lonely
Im so lonely
But I know what Im gonna do -
Im gonna ride on
Ride on
Ride on, standing on the edge of the road
Ride on, thumb in the air
Ride on, one of these days Im gonna
Ride on, change my evil ways
Till then Ill just keep dragging on
Broke another promise
And I broke another heart
But I aint too young to realize
That I aint too old to try
Try to get back to the start
And its another red light nightmare
Another red light street
And I aint too old to hurry
Cause I aint too old to die
But I sure am hard to beat
But Im lonely
Lord Im lonely
What am I gonna do -
Ride on
Ride on, got myself a one-way ticket
Ride on
Ride on, going the wrong way
Ride on, gonna change my evil ways
Ride on, one of these days
One of these days
Ride on
Ride on
Im gonna ride on
Ride on, looking for a truck
Ride on
Ride on, keep on riding
Riding on and on and on
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ride My See-saw
Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
I worked like a slave for years,
Sweat so hard just to end my fears.
Not to end my life a poor man,
But by now, I know I should have run.
Run, run my last race,
Take my place
Have this number
Of mine.
Run, run like a fire,
Dont you run in
In the lanes
Run for time.
Left school with a first class pass,
Started work but as second class.
School taught one and one is two.
But right now, that answer just aint true.
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah ah
My world is spinning around,
Everything is lost that I found.
People run, come ride with me,
Lets find another place thats free.
Ride, ride my see-saw,
Take this place
On this trip
Just for me.
Ride, take a free ride,
Take my place
Have my seat
Its for free.
Ride, my see-saw.
Ride, ride, ride, my see-saw.
Ride, my see-saw...
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Ride
In the east they can meditate
They can recreate the sound of all and bring us home
I think Ill go there some day
Maybe for a holiday
Maybe just light a candle, take a seat for the ride
And you dont need no money to fly, to truly fly away (recreate the sound of
All)
And you dont need no car to truly ride, truly ride away (recreate the sound of
All)
In the west we think were the best
Weve shown the whole wide world that money is all we care for
Someday the scientists will see theres no such thing as gravity
Theyll all just light a candle, take a seat for the ride
And you dont need no money to fly, to truly fly away (recreate the sound of
All)
And you dont need no car to truly ride, truly ride away (recreate the sound of
All)
As you ascend in silence, all doubt behind you
You reach the summit my friend and find your destiny
And you dont need no money to fly, to truly fly away (recreate the sound of
All)
And you dont need no car to truly ride, truly ride away (recreate the sound of
All)
And you dont need no money to fly, to truly fly away (recreate the sound of
All)
And you dont need no car to truly ride, truly ride away (recreate the sound of
All)
To truly ride away
song performed by by Live
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Outlaw
I'm a stranger in town and my guns never cold
I'm a gambler so bet on your life
You'll never live to grow old
I deal in lead I won't step aside
Where trouble's waitin well so am I
I live for the fight the thrill of the kill
Paid in gold for the blood I spill
Outlaw outlaw outlaw ride
Into the West a gun by your side
Hell and glory honor and pride
A gun will decide where the outlaws ride
The law of the West was the law of the gun
Shoot and be fast live on the run
Stay alive be fast on the draw
Live by the gun or die by the law
Outlaw outlaw outlaw ride
Into the West a gun by your side
Hell and glory honor and pride
A gun will decide where the outlaws ride
Shot through the heart in the blink of an eye
Buried up on boot hill
Life is cheap when the bounty is high
So be ready to kill
The law of the West was the law of the gun
Shoot and be fast live on the run
Stay alive be fast on the draw
live by the gun or die by the law
Shot of whisky I'll be on my way
Back in the saddle pull on the reins
Spurs to the beast over the hill
Another town one more kill
Outlaw outlaw outlaw ride
Into the West a gun by your side
Hell and glory honor and pride
A gun will decide where the outlaws ride
song performed by by Manowar from Louder Than Hell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
New York City Rhythm
Words by Marty Panzer
Music by Barry Manilow
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When my heart is torn apart
by love I wish I had,
Well, I spend my nights in the city's lights
and things don't seem so bad.
Ya know the movement seems to soothe me,
and the temp takes control,
and I lose my blues
when the Ne w York City rhythm fill my soul;
it's the New York City rhythm runnin' thru' my life,
the pounding beat of the city streets
that keeps mydreams alive.
I'm lost, I'm found, I'm up, I'm down,
but somehow I survive.
It's got to be the New Y ork City rhythm in my life,
It's got to be the New York City rhythm in my life,
in my life.
When I'm out for love or sin,
Oh, it's good to be in town,
In the funky dives on the old west sid
there's always somethin' goin' down.
Oh yes , I live my life with strangers,
and the danger's always there,
but when I hit Broadway and it's time to play,
ya know that I don't care;
It's the New York City rhythm runnin' thru my life,
the poundin' beat of the city streets
that kee ps my dreams alive.
I'm lost, I'm found, I'm up, I'm down, ,
but somehow I survive.
It's got to be the New York City rhythm in my life,
in my life.
City rhythm, oo city rhythm.
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!