Florida Cowman
© Frank Thomas

His beard may be stubbled, like a cut over sugarcane field
His clothes may be dirty, but the look in his eyes lets you know he won't yield
He's from a breed that has died, but he has survived, the world that he once knew is gone
He's an old Cracker Cowman, existing a long way from home

Now dirt bikes scream over land that used to be scrub cow trails
And interstate highways have taken the place of old Mr. Flagler's rails
And condos rise from the land and space shuttles fly
And the old Cracker Cowman don't know how it all passed him by

Old Bone Mizell he's gone but the legend lives on
Jake Summerland, and old Sam Keene, the beginning and ending of an era now gone
Men like Doc Norman some how let the bottle get him down
These old Florida cowboys are like eagles tied to the ground

Chorus: repeat

Frank Thomas: guitar and vocals
Ann Thomas: bass and vocals
Stan Geberer: harmonica
Doug Richard: fiddle
Mike Lawson: cello

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