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 hanging 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, 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 reign.

Peace and reign is just a way to say prosperity.

And Buffalo Chip is all it means to me.

I told him I was a poet, I was looking 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 and he said, You are a liar, son.

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 laying 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.

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

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

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