| D | G | D | A7 | D |
| D | G | D | |
| High on a mountain on Western Mo | ntana |
| D A7 ..D |
| A silowet moves cross a cinnamon sky |
| D | G | |
| Riding along on a horse he calls music |
| D | |
| With a song on his lips |
| A7 D |
| And a tear in his eye |
| D | |
| He dreams of a time |
| G | |
| And a lady who loved him |
| D | |
| And how he would sing her |
| D | A7 | |
| S | weet lullabies |
| D | |
| But we don't ever ask him |
| G | D | |
| And he never talks about h | er |
| D | |
| I guess it's just better |
| A7 | D | |
| That we all let it s | lide |
| G | D | |
| And he sings ohhhh to the | lady's |
| G | D | |
| And ohhhh he makes them | sigh |
| D | |
| Then he rides away |
| G | D | |
| On a horse he calls | music |
| D | |
| The pain in his heart |
| A7 | D | |
| And a tear in his | eye |
| (Solo) D G D A7 D |
| D | |
| Now he wrote the music |
| G | D | |
| From Boston to | Bozmon |
| D | |
| Not to much money |
| D | A7 | |
| And way to much | ride |
| D | |
| But those were the days |
| G | D | |
| When a horse he called | music |
| D | |
| The jump through the moon |
| A7 | D | |
| And Flied across the | sky |
| D | |
| Now all that's left |
| G | D | |
| Is an old time worn | cowboy |
| D | |
| With only his dreams |
| D | A7 | |
| Of the days gone gone | by |
| D | |
| And trailin behind |
| G | D | |
| Is a horse with no r | ider |
| D | |
| A horse he calls memories |
| A7 | D | |
| That she used to | ride |
| D | G | |
| But he sang ohhhh |
| D | |
| To the ladies |
| D | G | D | |
| And ohh | hh he damn near made some f | all right down and die |
| D | |
| And he'd ride away |
| G | D | |
| On a hor | se he called m | usic |
| D | |
| The pain in his heart |
| A7 | D | |
| And a tear in his eye |
| D | G | D | |
| High on a mo | untain i | n Western Montana |
| D A7 ..D |
| Two crosses cut through a cinnamon sky |
| D | |
| Markin the place were |
| G | D | |
| A horse he called | music |
| D | |
| Lays with a cowboy |
| A7 | D | |
| There by his s | ide |
| D | G | D | A7 | D |