I'm sashayin' up above the prairie,
Where my love and I have congress.
But this place, uh, not exactly a mesa,
It would lose in a tabletop-hill contest.
This butte is made for walking,
But careful with your shoe;
If it's misplaced, this butte may be
The final walk for you.

[walking-bass run]

Walk the line straight and narrow
When you're troopin'.
Lose your balance, you will if you forget
That this range is sedimentary; shale is
Not packed too tight; your life you might forfeit.
This butte is made for walking,
But careful with your shoe
If it's misplaced, this butte may be
The final walk for you.

[walking-bass run]

I'm sashayin'; you shouldn't be sashayin'
Because mountain-goat footwork you haven't learned. (Baaa!)
I see that you don't have a new pair of glasses. (yeah!)
If you can't see clearly, you might be urned.
This butte's not made for walking,
I was lyin' to you
'Cause I'm your beneficiary
Just walk this way and. . .oops!

[descending walking-bass run]

Header off the butte. . .
From walkin'.

[mournful horn solo]