This text comes from Songs of the Cowboys, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Little gal, I’m not a singer; if I were I’d sing to you
A tale of love that sure would be a wonder;
It would beat them opry singers when they sing, “Love I’ll be true —
As true as moon and stars a-shining yonder.”
My hands are big, and clumsy — I can’t pick the light guitar;
And no doubt you’ll say my lingo’s idle prattle;
But what can you expect? I’m from the Double Circle-Bar,
Where all my fingers learned was punching cattle.
I know the trail blindfolded and I never knew a fear,
For I’ve followed it for years, honeysuckle;
I can shoot and throw a rope and brand a crazy, locoed steer —
I can ride a bucking bronc and make him knuckle.
I can quiet restless cattle when the leader's getting wild,
And the lightning flash is ’nuff to make you dizzy;
I can soothe 'em like a mother when she’s croonin’ to her child —
But it something makes a man get might busy!
But my song — it's meek and humble; there is nothing I can sing
That in any way my sentiments can utter;
Since I saw your flashing eye, your winning smile — yes, everything
In your outfit — they have set my heart a-flutter.
So, Chiquita, if you'll let me, I would like to brand you mine —
Will you share with me the storms and sunny weather?
Ah! Your arms, your lips, Chiquita — they are sweeter than old wine!
Come, we'll hit life's trail and follow it — together!