The subtitle sets up a cowboy singing a sad song, but the voice we hear isn't his. It belongs to the town, a polite, buttoned-up suburb that is telling the emotional outsider to tone it down. "Florid" and "weepy" are the accusations, and the speaker is so unimpressed that even the fireplug looks away. The joke is that the old Western landscape has been paved over: no lone prairie, no tumbleweeds, just a highway the cowboy shouldn't have been able to cross.
The tone is dry and a little smug, which is the point. The town brags about its "property values," treats walking as a sign of being broke, and says that to loiter is to litter. Even the big hats are just costume. The last line is the sharpest: "we die behind closed doors." Real cowboys faced the elements openly, while these people keep their feelings, and even their deaths, private. The mood is comic but bleak, and it makes the cowboy's open grief look oddly honest.