It amazes me that (a) this post reply took so long, and (b) that I found it. In any case, I found the lyrics I was seeking - they are the same as referred to above in the radio log from Wyoming and I have tried to transcribe them below if someone else is interested.

I was down in ole Nebraska way and a gettin sorta gant
Built me up a little fire from a grass-like clump of plant
Eggs and bacon in my skillet, fire kept gettin kinda low
Set another clump a blazin, held my skillet in its glow.

Kept a' walkin and ignitin took my grub in hops and jumps
Took a might amount of matches lightin all them dry Nebraska clumps
Was a getting powerful weary when at last my chuck was done
I settled down to feedin out there in the settin sun

As I sat there in the glowin ? how the country looks
For I'd crossed into Wyoming 'fore I got my supper cooked

Twas a land plain topsy turvy, twas a place where no man ?
Just the horned toads and cottontails communin with their god
But without no rhyme nor reason, without farm or fence or shack
Where in some forgotten season they had buried posthole jack

Dark was comin down the prairie and a coldness sorta spread
Far as I could reach was nearly level place to roll my bed
From the sagebrush and the cactus and its getting mighty dark
All this vast Wyoming lacked a sorta open place to park

But at last I found a clearin, twas about six foot by three
With a yappin coyote nearin I laid down on the lone prairie
Guess I must a got ta dozin for I woke up with a jump

And there I was, plumb frozen, tangled with a sagebrush clump
Well I climbed back in my bedroll, I'm bent on catchin forty winks
I didn't realize a dead soul was givin me the jink

No I never new that bed ground twixt the greasewood and the stones
Was a spot some folk long dead found, just to rest his weary bones.
Never knew that little clearin there where I unrolled my pack
So deserted like appearin, was where they buried Posthole Jack

Well in may have been a minute but it seemed more like a week
There's my bed without me in it, I'm out playin hide and seek
And I'm full of plain disgusted oer Wyoming's rocky plains
And a critter I can't bust that bed throws me once again

Well I climb back in the saddle, hook my spurs in good and tight
I'm bound to ride that bedroll if it takes the whole durn night
Far away the frogs was croakin, finally lulls me to a nap

All a sudden I'm not jokin, I'm out sittin on my lap
Forty times I tried to ride her, and forty times my spurs bit deep
Boots and spurs don't make no difference, couldn't stay and couldn't sleep

But the dawn came up like thunder, and I saw Wyoming's face
In the light I ceased to wonder at the cause of my disgrace
Though it weren't real surprising when I rolled the bed tarp back
For then I seen the mound a risin where they buried Posthole Jack.