Sometimes you dream,
Sometimes it seems
There's nothing there at all;
You just seem older than yesterday,
And you're waiting for tomorrow to call.
You draw to the curtains,
And one thing's for certain,
You're cozy in your little room,
The carpet's all paid for,
God bless the TV,
Let's go shoot a hole in the moon.
And Roy Rogers is riding tonight,
Returning to our silver screens –
Comic-book characters never grow old,
Evergreen heroes whose stories were told –
The great sequin cowboy
Who sings of the plains,
Of round-ups and rustlers,
And home on the range.
Turn on the TV,
Shut out the lights –
Roy Rogers is riding tonight.
Nine o'clock mornings,
Five o'clock evenings,
I'd liven the pace if I could;
I'd rather have ham in my sandwich than cheese,
But complaining wouldn't do any good.
Lay back in my armchair,
Close eyes and think clear,
I can hear hoofbeats ahead;
Roy and Trigger have just hit the hilltop,
While the wife and the kids are in bed.
