He always sings raggy music to his cattle as he swings Back and forward in his saddle on a horse (pretty good horse!) He's a syncopated gaiter And you ought to hear the meter to the roar of his repeater How they run (yes run!) When they hear him come, because the western folks all know, He's a high fallutin', rootin' tootin' Son of a gun from old Wyoming Ragtime Cowboy, (talk about your cowboy), Ragtime Cowboy Joe. C-O-W-B-O-Y-S COWBOYS! COWBOYS! COWBOYS!