Intro
A Bm D A
[Verse]
Bm
Readin' old westerns with them white and black Stetson's
D A
They made it real simple to tell bad from good
Bm
It seems people these days are wearin' all kinds of grey
D A
I miss them old dusters 'cause I knew where I stood
[Chorus]
D Bm F#m A
You can't count anymore on Louis L'Amour to paint you the lay of the land
D Bm F#m A
And tell you who's on your side stride for stride and who's gonna ride for the brand
[Verse 2]
Bm D A
But don't get me wrong, there was a lot going on back in them wild lawless days
Bm
Not every gunfight was won by the good guys
D A
And one person's outlaw was another man's saint
[Pre Chorus]
N.F
But still
[Chorus]
D Bm F#m A
You can't count anymore on Louis L'Amour to show you the lay of the land
D Bm F#m A
Tell you who's on your side stride for stride and who's gonna ride for the brand
[Break]
A Bm D A
[Verse 3]
Bm
That old Russle hangs in a busted up frame
D A
In a tire shop off the highway out past Coeur d'Alene
Bm D A
D young mother cries as she searches the eyes of a son who's known nothin' but desperate pain
[Outro]
Bm D A
D young mother cries as she searches the skies for a time before meth hit our great western range
| I miss them old dusters 'cause I knew where I stood
| In a tire shop off the highway out past Coeur d'Alene
| It seems people these days are wearin' all kinds of grey
| Not every gunfight was won by the good guys
| Readin' old westerns with them white and black Stetson's
| Tell you who's on your side stride for stride and who's gonna ride for the brand
| That old Russle hangs in a busted up frame
| They made it real simple to tell bad from good
| You can't count anymore on Louis L'Amour to paint you the lay of the land
| You can't count anymore on Louis L'Amour to show you the lay of the land
| nd one person's outlaw was another man's saint
| nd tell you who's on your side stride for stride and who's gonna ride for the brand
| ut don't get me wrong, there was a lot going on back in them wild lawless days
| young mother cries as she searches the eyes of a son who's known nothin' but desperate pain
| young mother cries as she searches the skies for a time before meth hit our great western range