 He always sings raggedy music to the cattle as he swings. Back and forward in his saddle on a horse. That instinct to fade a gator, there was such a funny meter to the roar of his repeater. How they run when they hear the fella's gun because the western folks all know. He's a high-pollutin', rootin', tootin' son of a gun from Arizona. Ragtime cowboy, talk about your cowboy. Ragtime cowboy.