He rides across the channels like a tired rodeo clown,
every line a firework, but most of them fall down.
Castles in the clouds he builds, the truth stays in the dust,
his mirror’s the only crowd that ever gives him trust.

He swears that he’s the sheriff but he barely knows the law,
counts his followers like voters, not the hearts he leaves in awe.
Every word that proves him wrong he labels “fake news, son,”
and his hat sits crooked, heavy with his ego and his guns.

And I’m sittin’ on my front porch,
watchin’ that red sun go down,
wonderin’ how a man can talk so much
and still say nothin’ in this town.

Hey, Mr. Cockwomble, how d’you sleep at night?
Mouth full of big old promises, but your heart’s got little light.
Your world’s a house of mirrors, made of concrete and of pride,
but the dust down on this highway knows the truth you try to hide.

Hey, Mr. Cockwomble, hear this country song?
Just a tiny little note inside the noise inside your dome.
Maybe someday you’ll find out real greatness can be quiet, man—
’til then the world just sings: “Ride on, you cockwomble man.”

He builds his walls from slogans, none can hold the storm of time,
’cause the truth comes down like thunder through the smallest busted line.
Every handshake is a bargain, never just “How are you, friend?”,
he mistakes a crowd that’s frightened for a heart that can defend.

At the midway of his ego he keeps spinning round and round,
buys another painted promise while the fair shuts slowly down.
Folks out in the bleachers only want some peace and bread,
but he throws them cotton candy made of empty words instead.
[Chorus – Variation]
Hey, Mr. Cockwomble, how d’you sleep at night?
Playin’ the big old cowboy but your lasso catches pride.
Your world of shoutin’ slogans slowly crumbles in the dark,
’cause respect don’t grow from fear, it needs a softer kind of heart.

Hey, Mr. Cockwomble, this song’s a grain of sand,
but maybe there’s a spark in it that someday you’ll understand.
If you ever learn a heart is more than show and sleight of hand,
then this little country tune was worth it, my dear cockwomble man.

Maybe he’ll be standin’ all alone
when the cheers turn into haze,
maybe he’ll hear this song one night
and start to question all his plays.

’Cause even the proudest peacock
has to climb down off the rail,
when the feathers start to fade out
and the silence tells the tale.