John Wayne Follow

On a trail drive from Texas, down by the Rio Grande,
We drove past the Medina to a dry and bitter land

Where before the longhorns streamed along, grass range once was there.
Now we herded them in silence with a feeling of despair!

The day was hot... the wind was dry, and the mesquite barred the way.
The maguey and the cactus tried to drain our lives away.

We came up to a ranch house dying in the desert sun,
Looked the old spread over and couldn't see anyone.

Then from the ranch house a man stepped out. He was old beyond his years...
A viejo caballero whose eyes filled up with tears.

"I have nothing for you, Senores," he said. "My hacienda's empty now.
There was a time..." He shook his head and gave a gentle bow.

I asked him why he'd stayed on in a place where hope was dead.
He looked up at me and his face grew soft, and this is what he said:

"Mis Raices Estan Aqui!...
My Roots Are Buried Here!"

Now, I've punched cattle from the Rio Grande to the cold Montana plains,
And I've pushed 'em through New Mexico and through Arizona rains.

I've seen ranchers hanging on when it's been forty-five below--
And the thought's always crossed my mind as to why they just don't go

To a place where life is easier and where nature's not so hard...
And then the past comes floating back, and I'm in that viejo's yard.

I think of him and his quiet pride and of the things that he has done,
And I know that if men battle back at the snow or the broiling sun,

They'll live their responsiblities to the land that they love best.
America will proudly stand and in her vigil will not rest,

For no matter what may lie ahead, the answer's loud and clear:

"Mis Raices Estan Aqui!...
My Roots Are Buried Here!"