Will James
Ian Tyson
               When I was but a small boy,
               My father bought me many books
               'bout the creatures of the riverbanks
               And the sins of old sea cooks.
               But the ones I never left behind
               With the old forgotten games
               Were the tales of wild and windy slopes
               By the man they call Will James.

               Ah, the living of his cowboy dreams
               Or so it seemed to me.
               The perfect combination
               Of riding high and living free.
               His heroes were his horses
               And he drew them clear and true,
               On every page they'd come alive
               And jump straight out at you.

               His race toward the sunset
               Was the high and lonesome kind.
               Like a coyote always looking back
               He left no tracks behind.
               So I've memorized those pictures, boys
               They're still the very best.
               If whiskey was his mistress,
               His true love was the west.

               I remember up on Dead Man's Creek
               Back thirty years and more
               I hired on to breaking colts,
               Which I'd never done before,
               A city kid, I asked myself,
               Now what would Will James do?
               And you know it was the damndest thing
               But it kinda got me through.

    Source: geocities.com/hollywood/academy/3225/Folk/Ian_Tyson

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