I am a tumbleweed,
Rolling with the gentle push of the wind,
Strolling by to see what is going on,
In the old western town,
Down by the saloon.
I have a seat,
Have a chat,
Until the breezes pulls me out.
Out the two wooden doors,
Got to go somewhere else.
Out in the open, Where it is
Just the horizon and a clear blue sky.
But sometimes I want to settle
And relax. No can do,
Winds picking up, just got to
Keep on rolling.