(Harmonica intro: That lonesome wail kicks in, slow and bendy, ridin’ a deep 35-50 Hz bass thump—like thunder rollin’ off the Gulf, mixed with cold shipyard steel. Raspy drawl fades in…) Spoken Intro Well now… this here’s the tale of a fella they call the Gulf Coast Cowboy. Born with salt in his veins, sand in his boots… but fate dragged him north to that drizzly Seattle yard. Lord, he’s holdin’ on tight… heart still chasin’ them southern waves. Y’all lean in close. Verse 1 (Tight rhythm: 4/4 bounce, syllables punchin’ like waves) Born where the Gulf waves crash on the sand, Herdin’ them cattle with rod in his hand. Texas to Florida, salt runnin’ deep, Ropin’ the surf while the hurricanes creep. Life threw a curve, he packed up his ride, Headed up north for the paycheck tide. Now weldin’ big steel in the Puget Sound pour, Dreamin’ of sunshine, cravin’ much more. Chorus (Hook-heavy, sing-along rhythm—bass slaps hard) He’s a Gulf Coast Cowboy, lost in the gray, Boots splashin’ puddles, hat soaked day by day. Yeehaw fades soft in the cold misty air, Missin’ redfish runs and that salty sea stare. Hard hat on Stetson, coffee for beer, Gulf Coast Cowboy, fightin’ the tears. One day he’ll ride south on that warm wind blow, Till then he’s tough steel—but Gulf in his soul! Verse 2 Dawn at the shipyard, torch in his fist, Buildin’ them carriers through rain and the mist. Deck slick as squalls in a hurricane gale, Ain’t the same thrill, man, it’s startin’ to pale. Mind’s two-step dancin’ to zydeco swing, While hipsters sip lattes, not feelin’ the sting. Fridge stocked with salmon, but he needs his grits, Heart pullin’ southward—that’s the truth of it. Verse 3 (The Whataburger Lament—rhythmic hunger growl) Lunch break hits heavy in the shipyard grind, Sushi and vegan? Leavin’ him blind. Stomach’s roarin’ loud for double meat fire, Spicy ketchup flowin’, onions takin’ him higher. No Bold A.1. sauce, no Dr Pepper chill, Craft beer and drizzle—just can’t get his fill. Trade a full check for them taillight lights glow, Whataburger whisperin’, “Cowboy, come home.” Bridge (Slow it down, build tension—harmonica cries) Fog rolls in thick, mountains stand tall, Eyes shut tight, hear the seagulls call. No rodeo lights, just overtime grind, But deep in his ridin’—that Gulf stays behind. Final Chorus (Crank it up—full rowdy rhythm, bass thunders home) Yeah, he’s a Gulf Coast Cowboy, exiled way north, Weldin’ his dreams, showin’ what he’s worth. One day waves crash loud, callin’ him free, Hang up that hard hat, southbound he’ll be. Yeehaw goes quiet in Evergreen rain, Gulf Coast Cowboy—breakin’ the chain! Spoken Outro Yeah… one fine day that’ll boy fire up his truck, barrel down I-5 till the gray turns to gold. Out there in the fog, dreamin’ of orange stripes and warm ocean wind. Hang tough, cowboy. The Gulf ain’t forgot ya. Hell, neither have we. (Harmonica wails long and low, bass rumbles to silence…)

Seattle blues