Unlike most of the songs nowadays are being written uptown in Tin Pan Alley – that's where most of the folk songs come from nowadays, this–this is a song–this wasn't written up there, this was written somewhere down in the United States.
Well, the Lone Ranger and Tonto were riding down the line,
Fixing everybody's troubles – everybody's 'cept mine.
Someone musta told 'em that I was doing fine.
Oh, you five- and ten-cent women with nothing in your heads,
I got a real gal I'm loving, Lord, I'll love her till I'm dead.
Go away from my door and my window too, right now.
Lord, I ain't going down to no racetrack see no sports car run.
I don't have no sports car and I don't even care to have one.
I can walk anytime around the block.
Well, the wind keeps blowing me up and down the street,
With my hat in my hand and my boots on my feet.
Watch out so you don't step on me!
Well, look it here, buddy, you wanna be like me?
Pull out your six-shooter and rob every bank you can see.
Tell the judge I said it was alright, yeah!