Mom, I'm going back North this morning. Can't take no more of this big city high life. Nope, it's the open range and the deer and the antelope playing for me. Back to where men are men and women wear pants too. Back to the Lonesome Prairies, where the tumbling tumbleweeds tumble and the wind blows free and the buffalo poop in the yard. Where a your darlin' don't forsake you on this your wedding day and the man who shot Liberty Valance is still the bravest man of all. Where Mariah blows through your hair as you sit around Fred the Fire waiting for Arbuckle's the coffee to boil so you can git them little doogies along to Wyoming, their new home after you rope and cut and brand 'em from the back of Old Paint. Little Joe the Wrangler'll be waitin' for me at the Long Branch, his arm around Matt Dillon and Miss Kitty'll have a big glass of Redeye for me and Doc will be right there to fix me up after I drink it.

Yep, I'm aheading back to where a friend is a friend and the longhorn cattle feed on the lonely jimson weed, totin' my old .44. And I'll be signin' all the songs that the cowboys know, too. The Duke'll be there to welcome me, I'll betcha.

Anyway, in a bit I'm heading back north, pointing the ol' Honda up I-15....