| Song | Saddle Tramp |
| Artist | The Charlie Daniels Band |
| Album | The Roots Remain |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Well you pass around the pipe and you all get high | |
| Never even stop and wonder why | |
| Maybe it's because you wanna die | |
| Maybe it's just the way things have to be | |
| You stay up late and drink too damn much whiskey | |
| You know that sort of thing is kind of risky | |
| Maybe it's just because you like to feel frisky | |
| Maybe it's just because you like to feel free | |
| Saddle Tramp | |
| How many people watch you ridin' by | |
| Like a thunder cloud that floats | |
| Across the Arizona sky | |
| And wonder if they're looking | |
| At a mighty happy man | |
| Or just a lonely breeze that drifts | |
| Across the endless desert sand | |
| Well it's gettin' kinda cold in Readosa | |
| Abilene ain't gettin' any closer | |
| One more drink, one more hand of poker | |
| ‘Cause a fool and his money's | |
| Gonna have to part | |
| You're too proud to ever show your sorrow | |
| You don't steal and you won't beg or borrow | |
| You may be here today but you're gone tomorrow | |
| There ain't no strings on your boot heels | |
| Or your heart | |
| Saddle Tramp | |
| How many people watch you ride away | |
| Wonder why you never promise | |
| To come back some day | |
| Maybe thinking you were holding | |
| All the pieces in your hand | |
| Or are they slippin' through your fingers | |
| Like the endless desert sand |
| Well you pass around the pipe and you all get high | |
| Never even stop and wonder why | |
| Maybe it' s because you wanna die | |
| Maybe it' s just the way things have to be | |
| You stay up late and drink too damn much whiskey | |
| You know that sort of thing is kind of risky | |
| Maybe it' s just because you like to feel frisky | |
| Maybe it' s just because you like to feel free | |
| Saddle Tramp | |
| How many people watch you ridin' by | |
| Like a thunder cloud that floats | |
| Across the Arizona sky | |
| And wonder if they' re looking | |
| At a mighty happy man | |
| Or just a lonely breeze that drifts | |
| Across the endless desert sand | |
| Well it' s gettin' kinda cold in Readosa | |
| Abilene ain' t gettin' any closer | |
| One more drink, one more hand of poker | |
| ' Cause a fool and his money' s | |
| Gonna have to part | |
| You' re too proud to ever show your sorrow | |
| You don' t steal and you won' t beg or borrow | |
| You may be here today but you' re gone tomorrow | |
| There ain' t no strings on your boot heels | |
| Or your heart | |
| Saddle Tramp | |
| How many people watch you ride away | |
| Wonder why you never promise | |
| To come back some day | |
| Maybe thinking you were holding | |
| All the pieces in your hand | |
| Or are they slippin' through your fingers | |
| Like the endless desert sand |
| Well you pass around the pipe and you all get high | |
| Never even stop and wonder why | |
| Maybe it' s because you wanna die | |
| Maybe it' s just the way things have to be | |
| You stay up late and drink too damn much whiskey | |
| You know that sort of thing is kind of risky | |
| Maybe it' s just because you like to feel frisky | |
| Maybe it' s just because you like to feel free | |
| Saddle Tramp | |
| How many people watch you ridin' by | |
| Like a thunder cloud that floats | |
| Across the Arizona sky | |
| And wonder if they' re looking | |
| At a mighty happy man | |
| Or just a lonely breeze that drifts | |
| Across the endless desert sand | |
| Well it' s gettin' kinda cold in Readosa | |
| Abilene ain' t gettin' any closer | |
| One more drink, one more hand of poker | |
| ' Cause a fool and his money' s | |
| Gonna have to part | |
| You' re too proud to ever show your sorrow | |
| You don' t steal and you won' t beg or borrow | |
| You may be here today but you' re gone tomorrow | |
| There ain' t no strings on your boot heels | |
| Or your heart | |
| Saddle Tramp | |
| How many people watch you ride away | |
| Wonder why you never promise | |
| To come back some day | |
| Maybe thinking you were holding | |
| All the pieces in your hand | |
| Or are they slippin' through your fingers | |
| Like the endless desert sand |