There is a gal by which all others are measured
But there is a call that above all else is treasured
And though my valley’s barren
I can’t stop my caring
Like that woman and her band
I am whiskey poured into the sand
My rustic little tender and why
I’m not one to frown upon those fairer than I
And the sky’s a silver blue
And I’ll die trying not to
Maybe we can meet
Where all other desires sleep