(Clarke)
She could dance and slow you 'bout, shuffle to some cowboy
hustle.

How she made those trophy buckles shine, shine, shine.
Wild-eyed in Mexican silver, tricking dumb old cousin Willard
into thinking that he got her this time.


Hill country, honky-tonkin' Rita Ballou, every beer joint in
town has played a fool for you.

Back sliding, barrel riding Rita Ballou, ain't a cowboy in Texas
would not ride a bull for you.


She's a rawhide roping velvet mixture, walking, talking Texas
texture,
high-timing, barroom fixture kind of a girl.

She's a queen of the cowboys, look at old Willard grinning now,
boys,
you'd have thought there's less fools in this world.


Hill country, honky-tonkin' Rita Ballou, every beer joint in
town has played a fool for you.

Back sliding, barrel riding Rita Ballou, ain't a cowboy in Texas
would not ride a bull for you.


Good luck Willard, and here's to ya, and here's to Rita, I hope
she'll do ya right all night.
But I wish I was a fool in your shoes.


Hill country, honky-tonkin' Rita Ballou, every beer joint in
town has played a fool for you.

Back sliding, barrel riding Rita Ballou, ain't a cowboy in Texas
would not ride a bull for you.
Lord, I wish I was in Texas, I would ride a bull for you.