There it is already—a quick clean country stride, bright guitars on top and a warm drum-and-bass center that just keeps stepping forward.

Toby slides in easy on top of that motion, almost talking the Marshal Dillon bit rather than belting it.

Miss Kitty, running away, marrying him if he begged—the band stays level and lets the joke sit in time.

She'd have said yes in a New York minute—then the turn: heart wasn't in it, stolen kiss, hat never hung at her place.

Feel that little lift under him—not a slam into the hook, just enough air cleared while the pulse keeps walking.

And there it is out loud: he should've been a cowboy. Melody opens a notch, groove barely changes.

Rope and ride, six-shooter, pony on a cattle drive—the wish gets its props while the band stays compact and bright.

Stealing hearts like Gene and Roy, campfire songs—still no theatrical swell, just that useful middle pocket carrying him home to the title.

Second verse, same stubborn level ground. Sidekick with a funny name, chasing Jesse James—the pictures move faster than the beat.

Brink of danger, shotgun for the Texas Rangers—adventure names flipping by like roadside signs.

Go west, young man—now the map stretches: California whiskey, women, and gold.

Sleeping out under desert stars, dream in the eye, prayer in the heart—and the rhythm never leaves its seat.

Chorus two, same wish again. Rope and ride comes back like a motion he already knows how to wear.

Gene and Roy, campfire songs—open space still sitting between his voice and that steady frame, nostalgia without weight.

Voice steps off. Guitars flicker across the same roadbed, drums keep a clean country snap, low end still pulling forward—the argument without words.

Final chorus ride lands where the ear expects: six-shooter, cattle drive, the whole costume back on.

Campfire songs into the title again—less a new thought now than home base.

Yeah—I should've been a cowboy, twice. Tagging it out while the motion starts to spend down.

Gentle release—no collapse. Phrases ease off, the band loosens its forward push a little at a time.

And the pulse finally lets go. Fantasy stops because the band stops carrying it.