| There is a young cowboy he lives on the range |
| His horse and his cattle are his only companions |
| He works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons |
| Waiting for summer, his pastures to change |
| And as the moon rises he sits by his fire |
| Thinking about women and glasses of beer |
| And closing his eyes as the dogies retire |
| He sings out a song which is soft but it’s clear |
| As if maybe someone could hear |
| Goodnight you moonlight ladies |
| Rockabye sweet baby James |
| Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose |
| Won’t you let me go down in my dreams |
| And rockabye sweet baby James |
| Now the first of December was covered with snow |
| So was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston |
| Now, the Berkshires seemed dreamlike |
| On account of that frosting |
| With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go whoa |
| There’s a song that they sing when they take to the highway |
| A song that they sing when they take to the sea |
| A song that they sing of their home in the sky |
| Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep |
| But singing works just fine for me |
| So, goodnight all you moonlight ladies |
| Rockabye sweet baby James |
| Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose |
| Won’t you let me go down in my dreams |
| And rockabye sweet baby James |