by a blackened wood stove in a run down old bunkhouse sat an old buckaroo with his hat in his hand and he lowered his voice as he told me about em them wild western women that wore no man s brand well the old man remembered they d drive you plum crazy dancin for nickels neath the bar rooms oil light we d come off the trail and they d be waiting for us them purty painted ladies in dresses so bright where s all the pretty painted ladies where s all the dance hall gals where are you lil are you still young and pretty are you waiting for me at the end of the trail slowly they d swirl with the ranchers and the wranglers while the piano played on into the night they d be kickin their skirts past the worry raw hiders purty painted ladies i miss you tonight well i told the old timer that they d all moved on years ago no more purty lil no more buffalo sal but he said son some nights i can see em a singin and a dancin at the end of the trail where s all the pretty painted ladies where s all the dance hall gals where are you lil are you still young and pretty are you waiting for me at the end of the trail