Well, she's my rose from the mountain, where I come from Back in old Colorado, where they reach up and touch the sunBut I took her to the city, where the air ain't clean And it's with my rose from the mountain Where a good guitar picker makes more money than a cowboySo I thought I'd try my luck making records in L.A. But a lot of them boys make a lot more music than I can composeAnd if Rose don't like the city life, I think I'll take her home But, well, I can see her in the morning running barefoot through the meadowWith a smile on her face and her hair a-hanging long Well, I love my sweet Rose, and, oh, she loves me So I'm taking her back home to the mountainWhere a good guitar picker makes more money than a cowboy So I thought I'd try my luck making records in L.A. But a lot of them boys make a lot more music than I can composeAnd 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 old Colorado, where they reach up and touch the sunBut I can go to the city where the air ain't clean And it's with my rose from the mountain Yes, it's with my rose from the mountain