text:  Back and forward in the saddle on a horse That is scintillated, gated, and is such a putty meter To the roar of his repeater, how they run When you 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 Joe Out in Arizona where the bad men are The only thing to guide you is an evening star Roughest, toughest man before is Ragtime Cowboy Joe