There's nothing forged by mortal man
Can measure full the gain,
When God swings wide ol' Heaven's Gate
And sorts a day of rain.

No vessel on a sun-baked ranch
No dog dish, gauge or pail
Can hold the flow and endless worth
A soaker can unveil.

You'd barter with the Devil sure
If rain against soul was bet,
Because on both knees you've prayed for months
With not an answer yet.

More natural than breathing air
See, every drop's a gift,
All creatures livin' feel the charge
When clouds begin to shift.

And thunderheads show in the west
The breeze turns damp-not burned
Your soul might be the Devil's toy
But for now the sky has turned.

As lightning flashes, thunder screams
Most cattle bunch to hide
The horses race the barbed wire south,
They feel it deep inside.

Anticipation, same as you
Heaven's gate blows back,
A gully washer's on it's way
The drought's now under attack.

So fill them up to overflowing
Each gauge, and pail and dish,
The Devil may have gained a soul
But cowboy, you got your wish.