The sun is sinking in the west,
the cattle go down to the stream,
the redwing settles in her nest,
it’s time for a cowboy to dream.

Purple light in the canyon,
that’s were I long to be
with my three good companions
just my rifle, pony and me.

Gonna hang my sombrero
on the limb of a tree.
Coming home sweet heart darling
just my rifle, pony and me.

Whippoorwill in the willow
sings a sweet melody,
riding to Amarillo
just my rifle, pony and me.

No more cow to be roping,
no more strays will I see,
round the bend she'll be waiting
for my rifle, pony and me,
for my rifle, my pony and me.

An old cowboy went riding out one dark and windy day
upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way,
when all at once a mighty herd of red eyed cows he saw
a-plowing through the ragged sky and up the cloudy draw.

Their brands were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel.
Their horns were black and shiny and their hot breath he could feel,
a bolt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky
for he saw the Riders coming hard and he heard their mournful cry

Yippie yi Ohhhhh,
Yippie yi yaaaaay.
Ghost Riders in the sky.

Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred, their shirts all soaked with sweat.
He's riding hard to catch that herd, but he ain't caught 'em yet
'cause they've got to ride forever on that range up in the sky
on horses snorting fire
as they ride on hear their cry.

As the riders loped on by him he heard one call his name:
"If you want to save your soul from Hell a-riding on our range,
then, cowboy, change your ways today or with us you will ride
trying to catch the Devil's herd, across these endless skies."

Yippie yi Ohhhhh
Yippie yi Yaaaaay.

Ghost Riders in the sky.
Ghost Riders in the sky.
Ghost Riders in the sky...

As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,
as I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young cowboy wrapped all in white linen,
wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly,
sing the dead march as you carry me along.
Take me to the valley there lay the sod o'er me,
I’m a young cowboy and know I’ve done wrong.

“I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy”,
this words he did say as I boldly walked by.
“Come, sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
got shot in the breast and I know I must die.

Go, fete me some water, a cool cup of water,
to cool my parched lips”, then the poor cowboy said.
Before I returned, his spirit had left him,
had gone to his maker, the cowboy was dead.

"Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly
sing the dead march as you carry me along,
take me to the valley there lay the sod o'er me,
I’m a young cowboy and know I’ve done wrong."