Lyrics: Yippy Ty Oh Hey Hey

Well, the wind's too high to brand today, can't even start a fire

It ain't rained in three damn months, so I'm here patching this barbed wire

And I'd hate to think what'd happen if I actually starved to death

But at least my horses and my cattle won't, I got thirty-six bales left


Yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey


This here land was my grandpa's until I turned sixteen

He handed it down to my daddy, who passed it down to me

And I wasted most of my youth toiling time away

Feeding Braford cows and baling coastal hay


Said yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey


Well, this land is cut by the river, the damned ol' trinity

When she gets to feeling mad, Lord, she sure gets deep

And there's dirt on my girt, and blood on my saddle horn

This life, it might not be for you, but this is where I was born


Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey


It was the spring of 1925, a cold and cloudy day

Twelve cowboys came riding in to take this land away

Daddy grabbed a shotgun, and I grabbed a .22

And I buried all twelve men that day, and I buried daddy too


Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey


I married in the fall of 1933

She gave me two strong, young boys who both looked up to me

And I taught 'em how to work this land and how to read the sky

And they'll still be here with my grandkids long after I die


Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey


Well, this land is cut by the river, the damned ol' trinity

And when she gets to feeling mad, Lord, she sure gets deep

And there's dirt on their girts, and blood on their saddle horns

This life, it might not be for you, but this is where they were born


Singin' yippy-ty-oh, whoa-oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey


Someday soon, they'll lay me down 'neath that old oak tree

Point me towards the west and this is what I hope you'll sing


Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey

Yippy-ty-oh, oh-oh, hey, hey