We're up in the morning
At breaking of day,
The chuckwagon's busy,
With flapjacks in play.
The herd is astir
Over hillside and vail,
With the night riders crowding them
Into the trail.

Come take up your cinches,
Come shake out your reins,
Come wake your old broncho
And break for the plains.
Come, roust out your steers
From the long chapparal,
For the outfit is off
To the railroad corral.

The red sun is blazing;
The steers as they plod
Are pounding to powder
The hot prairie sod;
It seems, as the dust
Makes you dizzy and sick,
That we'll never reach noon,
And the cool shady crick.

So tie up your bandana
And ply up your nag;
Put aside all your grumblin',
And try not to lag;
Come on with your steers
From the long chapparral,
For we're far on the road
To the railroad corral.