The Galloping Gaucho comes to town. Riding like a demon vacquero, Bought his horse for half a crown and called him Scar Faced Jock. Battered Geetar on his back, poncho looking just like a lightshow. All his welfare in a sack, he often travelled light, He rode all through the night- With a fleeting glance at a local dance and a cloud of dust in the morning. The girls all stood and stared, intentions undeclared, For a six foot drip with a plastic Whip he could not be compared. The Galloping Gaucho hits the town, Made a date with Los Paraguayos Dressed in a pin-striped suit of brown, He wore his bowler hat. Drinking wine and feeling fine when a dark hair girl appeared in a doorway, Dressed in green like a gypsy queen, she looked like dynamite, They rode all through the night. With a fleeting glance at a local dance and a cloud of dust in the morning. The boys all stood and stared, Intentions undeclared, For a brave Don Juan with a shakey hand he could not he compared. The stack heeled cowboys in our town are apt to think -their demon vacqueros. Dressed in pin-striped suits of brown they think that we're uncool. Shiny Geetars on their backs, make-up looking just like a lightshow. Just avoiding Income Tax to get a little tight. They ride all through the night, With a far out glance at a local dance and a cloud of dust in the morning. The girls all stood and stared. intentions undeclared. To a boss-eyed blade on his last crusade they could not be compared.