The sun burns the snow high on the mountains
It runs and it rolls as it falls
Silt and soil, down it boils
Down to the valleys
The gold river rolls to the plains
The range land lies high up from the river
The coulees are dry where the short grass grows
Fields of hay, cottonwood shade
Green patch of home
Through the high dusty land the river flows
Early evenin' light, boys practice roping
The day fades away, the night rolls on
Lives of pride, men who ride
They keep the old skills
That came up the trail from Mexico
The long river winds through green years and dry years
Brand 'em in the spring, ship 'em in the fall
A new colt foal, the mare grows old
Cycle of changes
In this changeless land where the short grass grows
In this changeless land where the short grass grows
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