Out on the plains down near Santa Fe,
I met a cowboy ridin’ the range one day.
And as he jogged along
I heard him singing a most peculiar cowboy song.
It was a ditty he learned in the city:
“Cum-a-ti-yi-yi-ay, Cum-a-ti-yip-it-tl-e-yi-ay.
Git along. Git hip little dogies. Git along.
Better be on your way. Git along. Git hip little dogies.”
And he trucked ’em on down the ol’ fairway,
Singing his cow-cow boogie in the strangest way:
“Cum-a-ti-yi-yi-ay, Cum-a-ti-yip-it-tl-e-yi-ay.”

Singin’ his cowboy songs. He’s just too much.
He’s got a knocked out western accent with a Harlem touch.
He was raised on loco weed.
He’s what you call a swing half breed.
Singing his cow-cow boogie in the strangest way:
“Cum-a-ti-yi-yi-ay, Cum-a-ti-yip-it-tl-e-yi-ay.
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Yip-peeeee.”