The old man used to dream of the fortunes he'd seekNow he lives in a room where you pay by the weekHis hands are all battered and his pony's gone lameHis bones always ache when the sky looks like rainHe dreams of the old days when bronc bustin' paidThe wide open spaces the buffalo glaizedDeep in his memory wild horses run onBut he knows the good times have all come and goneThere's nobody home on the range anymoreThey closed down the bunk house and padlocked the doorNow there' s oil wells and motels and folks by the scoreBut there's nobody home on the range anymoreNow the eagle stopped flying, the night wind is stillAnd the last coyotes howling on some lonely hillThe old man is longing to lay it all downIn his final box the far side of townBecause he knows his last mountain is two flights of stairsAnd his saddle turned into an old rocking chairHe wakes up in mornin' and wanders what for'Cause there' s nobody home on the range anymoreThere's nobody home on the range anymoreThey closed down the bunk house and padlocked the doorNow there' s oil wells and motels and folks by the scoreBut there's nobody home on the range anymore