| Lyrics: | (Clarke)
She could dance and slow you 'bout, shuffle to some cowboy hustle.
How she made
those trophy buckles shine, shine, shine.
Wild-eyed in Mexican silver, tricking dumb old cousin
Willard
into thinking that he got her this time.
Hill country, honky-tonkin' Rita
Ballou, every beer joint in town has played a fool for you.
Back sliding, barrel riding Rita
Ballou, ain't a cowboy in Texas would not ride a bull for you.
She's a rawhide roping
velvet mixture, walking, talking Texas texture,
high-timing, barroom fixture kind of a
girl.
She's a queen of the cowboys, look at old Willard grinning now, boys,
you'd have
thought there's less fools in this world.
Hill country, honky-tonkin' Rita Ballou, every
beer joint in town has played a fool for you.
Back sliding, barrel riding Rita Ballou, ain't a
cowboy in Texas would not ride a bull for you.
Good luck Willard, and here's to ya, and
here's to Rita, I hope she'll do ya right all night.
But I wish I was a fool in your
shoes.
Hill country, honky-tonkin' Rita Ballou, every beer joint in town has played a fool
for you.
Back sliding, barrel riding Rita Ballou, ain't a cowboy in Texas would not ride a bull
for you.
Lord, I wish I was in Texas, I would ride a bull for you. |
