They once roamed the west
on horseback they road.
Carrying pistols and rifles
Sometimes searching for gold.

They once were many
but now they are few.
The old such as John Wayne and Layne Frost
but there are few new.

They sometimes searched for love,
perhaps just friendships.
Some just trying to survive the hardships.

Though so many of them try
Most of them fail
They don't understand
its not the way you dress,
or the way you talk,
the house you live in,
or the way you walk,

Its who they are,
what they do.
Its in their blood pumping from their hearts.
From the hat on their head
to the boots on their feet.

From the cattle they drive
to the ranches they run.
From the hills and mountains under the sun.
There is no limit on where they come from.

Back in the day
they were slain by gun or knife
fired by enemy
or Indian both alike.

Now-days they fall prey to old age.
Many forgotten, few remembered.
Now they they are laid to rest these words
are muttered in a few short breaths.

"There goes another of the dying breed"
is said by the ones who remember the past.

The Dying breed,
a losing battle,
that's what it is.
A transition from past to present.
The kids no longer look up to cowboys.

For once used to be John Wayne
has now become Lil Wayne
soon the last of the breed
will die, all will be forgotten.

Soon what is history,
will become myth.
Legend of what
a real man was.