A western ranch is just a branch of Nowhere Junction to me.
Gimme the city where livin’s pretty and the gals wear finery.

East is east and west is west and the wrong one I have chose;
Let’s go where you’ll keep on wearin’ those frills and flowers and buttons and bows.
Rings and things and buttons and bows.

Don’t bury me in this pairie,
Take me where the cement grows;
Let’s move down to some big town where they love a gal by the cut o’ her clothes and
You’ll stand out in buttons and bows.

I’ll love you in buckskin or skirts that you’ve homespun
But I’ll love ya’ longer, stronger where yer friends don’t tote a gun.
My bones denounce the buckboard bounce and the
Cactus hurts my toes;

Let’s vamoose where gals keep us in those silks and satins and linen that shows,
and you’re all mine in buttons and bows.

Gimme eastern trimmin’ where women are women
in high silk hose and peek-a-boo clothes
and French perfume that rocks the room
and you’re all mine in buttons and bows.