His face was burnt deep by the sun,
Part history, part sage, part mesquit,
He was there when Poncho Villa was young.
And he'd tell you a tale of the old days,
When the country was wild all around,
Sit out under the stars of the Milky Way,
And listen while the coyotes howl.
And they go... hoo yip hoo yip hoo
hoodi hoo di yip hoo di yip hoo
hoo yip hoo yip hoo
hoo di hoo di yip hoo di yip hoo