| He was born in the little farming town of Winterset |
| On the new frontier |
| a Midwest native son |
| But his star would shine as bright |
| as any star can ever get |
| And he would cast a giant shadow |
| before he was done |
| Tall in the saddle, |
| he went to reap the wild wind |
| In old California |
| and across the Rio Grande |
| From a stage coach on a big trail |
| To Rio Bravo and back again |
| He rode on wings of eagles this quiet man |
| Here’s to you, |
| Marion Michael Morrison |
| Here’s to you, |
| for all our battles that you fought and won |
| A true American hero, |
| a straight shooting son of gun |
| Here’s to you, |
| Marion Michael Morrison |
| Singin' Sandy, |
| Sergeant Striper, |
| McClintock and McQ, |
| Katie’s elder son |
| and big Jim McLane |
| Brannigan and Rooster, |
| Hondo and Big Jake, |
| Yeah, we knew him |
| by a hundred different names |
| On the sands of Iwo Jima, |
| back to Bataan |
| The flying tigers |
| and the green berets |
| He was with the fighting Seabees |
| and every American fighting man, |
| at the Alamo and on that longest day |
| And here’s to you, |
| Marion Michael Morrison |
| Here’s to you, |
| for all our battles that you fought and won |
| A true American hero, |
| a straight shooting son of gun |
| Here’s to you, |
| Marion Michael Morrison |
| There might be few who would dare to say |
| The star you hung might fade away, |
| But I can hear you tell them, |
| «Pilgrim, that’ll be the day» |
| Here’s to you, |
| Marion Michael Morrison |
| Here’s to you, |
| for all our battles that you fought and won |
| A true American hero, |
| a straight shooting son of gun |
| Here’s to you, |
| Marion Michael Morrison |
| Here’s to you, |
| Marion Michael Morrison |