I was in the town of Griffin
The year was Eighty three
It was there an old cow puncher
Stepped up and said to me
“How do you do young fellow?
And how would you like to go
And spend a pleasant summer
Out in New Mexico?”

“I’ll furnish you good wages
Your transportation too
If you will but go with me
One summer season through”
“But if you should get homesick
And back to Griffin go
Then I’ll furnish you no horses
From the hills of Mexico”

We left the town of Griffin
In the merry month of May
When all the world was lovely
And everything was [bad word] 
With saddles on our horses
Marching over we did go
Until we reached the logging
Out in New Mexico

It was there our pleasures ended
And our troubles they began
The first hail storm fell on us
Those cattle how they ran
Through all the thorns and thistles
Us cowboys had to go
While the Indians watched upon us
Out in New Mexico

Well when the drive was over
The riders would not pay
To all you happy people
This much I have to say
Go back to your friends and loved ones
Tell others not to go
To the god forsaken country
They call New Mexico