Rock By the Old Rio Grande

(Tune: Rockabye Sweet Baby James, by James Taylor)

There is a young Doctor, he dreams of the range
His mind is afloat on a far Western journey
An' he dreams of the saddle, instead of the gurney
Only returning to earn pocket change;

An' as the day fades though he's working his scalpel
And earnin' his keep with his medical skills,
He's really out yonder, away from the people,
Rounding up dogies on the far Western hills,

Givin' tunes out instead of them pills.
 

He sings, Goodnight, you old gunslingers
Rockabye by the ol' Rio Grande
Mah hand's in yore brains, but my heart's on the plains,
Woncha give my ol' suture a hand?
And rock by the old Rio Grande

He's an ICU medic, out riding the fences,
Hearing the dogies come round to his tunes,
An' lining Recovery with old brass spittoons
With one life in Boston and one oh so far away,

As he's signing prescriptions with half his attention,
Sung to the jingle of  bedpans and spurs,
Singing gunslinger's ballads, of his own invention,
For the one thing that heals him, of all of his cures.
Is the sweet Western wind that endures,
 

He sings -- Goodnight, you old gunslingers
Rockabye by the ol' Rio Grande
Mah hand's in yore brains, but my heart's on the plains,
Woncha give my ol' suture a hand?
And rock by the old Rio Grande

Regards,

A