Текст песни

Well she's my Rose from the mountain where I come from
Back in ol' Colorado where they reach up and touch the sun
But I took her to the city where the air ain't clean
And it's wilted my Rose from the mountain

Where a good guitar picker makes more money than a cowboy
So I thought I'd try my luck makin' records in L.A.
But a lot of them boys make a lot more music than I can
And if Rose don't like the city life I think I'll take her home

Well I can see her in the mornin' runnin' barefoot through the meadow
With a smile on her face and her hair a-hangin' long
Well I love my sweet Rosey and oh she loves me
So I'm takin' her back home to the mountain

Where a good guitar picker makes more money than a cowboy
So I thought I'd try my luck makin' records in L.A.
But a lot of them boys make a lot more music than I can
And if Rose don't like the city life I think I'll take her home

She's my Rose from the mountain where I come from
Back in ol' Colorado where they reach up and touch the sun
But I took her to the city where the air ain't clean
And it's wilted my Rose from the mountain

Yes it's wilted my Rose from the mountain