I grew up watching Westerns on an old round-screen TV
I told my folks a horse and ranch were perfect gifts for me.
We lived near Philadelph'ya so I didn't have much hope.
I wore my 6-guns anyway and practiced with my rope.
My dad came home from trav'ling and his news was just the best
He said that we were moving to a ranch house in the West.
Near DenverColorado. That was all one word to me.
I knew just what I could expect. I'd see it on TV.
My hopes and dreams that summer, well, they shriveled up and died
And I found disappointment on that long, cross-country ride.
We didn't try to join up with those west-bound wagon trains.
We didn't set up tents at night to sleep out on the plains.
We stayed in motor courts and late at night I nursed my dream.
We didn't trade our Chevy for a buckboard and a team.
And Denver had no dirt streets nor one horse tied to a branch.
Our new brick-sided ranch house? We, it came without a ranch.
My mama cried because we left her fam'ly far behind.
I cried when I asked Daddy for a horse and he declined.
My mama tried to help me 'though she felt so bad herself.
One day she took the music books down from the closet shelf.
We sat at our piano and sang songs about the West.
All good, but "Tumblin' Tumbleweeds" was way above the rest.
She said the song was beautiful and so the 'weeds must be.
When Fall came she would watch those pretty tumbleweeds with me.
So, when the nights got frosty and the leaves turned gold and brown,
Some most unpleasant visitors soon moseyed through our town.
First one or two, the sev'ral formed up groups and planned attacks.
They scratched and bit when they could sneak behind unguarded backs.
We watched them safely from our brand-new ranch house, warm and neat,
As herds of thun'dring tumbleweeds stampeded down our street.