Picture yourself sitting on the banks of the beautiful north country of the Río Grande: crisp mountain air, cold Lone Stars in the cooler, the perfect fly on your line.
The undisputed king of the backcountry, built like a freight train on four legs with claws that could carve up a picnic basket.... or a daggum pickup truck.
Here at The Cowboy Country Club we don’t concern ourselves with things like “dress code” or “decorum” we just value the important stuff like cold Lone Star and a dang good chicken fried steak at the clubhouse.
A skull grins beneath an ‘ol Stetson brim, Flames lick his helmet blue, defying death's whim, With hollow eyes he stares, a cowboy to the bone, Ridin' through eternity.
The Stranger, Bill Munny, Joe, Blondie, Rowdy Yates. None of those cowboys ever cried, don’t care what you’ve seen. They just got something in their eye!
As I walked out in the streets of L.A., As I walked out in L.A. one day, I saw a young cowboy, wearing a cowboy hat
Wearing a cowboy hat, with no cattle he strayed.
