No 8 second ride for these cowboys tonight

As they start in the morning, losing daylight

Their hats are now ties, tethering true

Not breathing in clean air as faces turn blue

Their motive, the green, but not of a pasture

Not men of free will, but now slaves to a master

When the bell rings, it’s chaos, not for a meal

It’s a dog eat dog city, with true faces concealed

They’re just…

Cardboard cowboys in a concrete canyon

Riding steel horses, reigning in their abandon

Letting loose bridles, for no horses they ride

Spending their days, cooped up, deep inside

It’s a sad way

And a sad day

For New York cowboys

Their fishing hole yonder’s now polluted with clutter

As their southern boy drawl’s replaced with a stutter

No chaps and no stirrups, no boots and no jeans

Their lives are now over, at the end of their means

The bull that they ride are the very stories they tell

From wall to wall bouncing, not sitting a spell

They are always in a hurry, no time for the rose

Not much of a cowboy or anything, I s’pose

They’re just…

Cardboard cowboys in a concrete canyon

Riding steel horses, reigning in their abandon

Letting loose bridles, for no horses they ride

Spending their days, cooped up, deep inside

It’s a sad way

And a sad day

For New York cowboys