X-I-T Range (Larry W. Jones 01/12/2012) (song #6534)
Come gather round cowboys and listen to my song
For I’m sure you’ll be pleased and it won’t take too long
I’ll sing to you of things that you may not agree
Of the Texas panhandle’s famous X-I-T
If you ride to Dalhart, find Rufus Jack Bradley
He’s the big wagon boss and he’ll treat you badly
He’ll toss you on a hoss on three million acres
And he’ll make you break a hundred widow-makers
When you ride up to the Escabada bunkhouse
You’ll see sod upon the roof, and for sure a mouse
Ask what it is and you’ll be told the same as me
Greenhorn, this is your bed on the big X-I-T
Oh, for sure you’ll rise early morn before daybreak
And boys, you’ll scorn the taste of cold X-I-T steak
And for fixin’ fences in rain, don’t think it strange
Cause you’re now employed on the big X-I-T range
Some cowboys say X-I-T means Ten In Texas
But I know a ten’s as big as my paycheck is
And boys, if to Mr. Farwell you wish to complain
You won’t be gettin’ far on the X-I-T range
Now you cowboys, I no longer here can remain
And I hope my Texas song has caused you no pain
But when I am gone, now don’t you think of me strange
For I’ve been a cowhand on the X-I-T range
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