He was an old-time cowboy, don't you understand?

His eyes were sharp as razor blades, his face was leather tan.

His toes were pointed inward from a-hangin' on a horse he was an old philosopher, of course.

He was so thin I swear you could have used him for a whip.

He had to drink a beer to keep his britches on his hips.

I knew I had to ask him about the mysteries of life, he spit between his boots, and he replied:

It's faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, and more money"

He smiled and all his teeth were covered with tobacco stains he said, "it don't do men no good to pray for peace and rain.

Peace and rain is just a way to say prosperity, and buffalo chips is all it means to me."

I told him I was a poet, I was lookin' for the truth.

I do not care for horses, whiskey, women or the loot.

I said I was a writer, my soul was all on fire he looked at me an' he said, "

You are a liar,"

"it's faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, and more money."

Well, I was disillusioned, if I say the least.

I grabbed him by the collar and I jerked him to his feet.

There was something cold and shiny layin' by my head, so I started to believe the things he said.

Well, my poet days are over and I'm back to being me as I enjoy the peace and comfort of reality.

If my boy ever asks me what it is that I have learned, I think that I will readily affirm,

"it's faster horses, younger women, older whiskey, and more money" (repeat 2x)