The cowboy has his bunkie
To share his tarpaulin—
To joke with him and smoke with him
And listen to his chin.
But a sheep-herder, doggone it!
When lonesome breezes moan,
Must grit his teeth and stand it—
He's got to fight alone.

The nester he is married—
Contentment is his lot—
There's laughin' and there's chaffin'
At his ranch (which here there's not).
For the sheep-herder, doggone it!
Don't hear a human voice;
It's enough fer him to listen
While the kyo-tes rejoice.

The city man is bothered
With too many men around;
There's rushin' and there's crushin'
Like when ants swarm o'er the ground.
But the sheep-herder, doggone it!
Has miles of space to fill
And nary soul to help him
Watch the sheep feed on the hill.