The Greely Stampede Rodeo

                             
I came into Colorado, with not much but my saddle,
And stopped for a hot cup of Joe.
The waitress said really, you should drive over to Greely,
For the Greely Stampede Rodeo.
I drove those few miles and I got warm welcome smiles,
From some ladies in big hats and curls,
Then I made the rounds of the rodeo grounds,
And waved to the young college girls.
All my money was spent, signing up for my event,
I drew a horse called Gray Bob,
I needed some luck, or else sell my truck,
Or at the very least take a job.
I strapped my spurs on my boots, and hung around the chutes,
Wishing I had time for a bite,
When my turn came, they called out my name,
And I pulled my Stetson down tight.
I slid down in the seat, found the stirrups with my feet,
And gave a nod to the man on the gate.
The announcer in the stand, said let’s give a big hand,
To that good cowboy coming out of chute eight.
He’s from the Northwest, and riding one of our best,
Lets hope he stays out of the dirt,
Then that gray  swapped ends, while we were still in the pens,
And I thought I might really get hurt.
He was a mean chute fighter, and a real bad leg biter,
He backed out with his teeth in my boot,
I managed to mark out when he spun about,
Though he banged up my leg in the chute.
He would leap for the sky, his rear hooves kicking up high,
coming down on one with a thud,
If this sunfishing gray, could have his own way,
I’d be off and spitting out mud.
On every jump, my head near slammed his rump,
As I roweled him from shoulder to flank
His jumps jolted my head, until my nose bled,
This big horse really was rank.
I had my hands full, he could spin like a bull,
I knew if I had any sense,
I’d swallow my pride and dive over his side,
If he tried to buck into the fence.                                                           
My timing was slowing, I felt myself going,
Another jump and I thought I’d buck loose,
I was pulling the hack, trying to stay on his back,
But was afraid that it was really no use.
I heard the whistle blast, eight seconds were past,
And I bailed for the pickup rider,
I went face down in the dirt, and though I wasn’t hurt,
It was embarrassing for any bronc fighter.
I scored a seventy nine, and that was just fine,
I finished in the money that day,
I earned it of course, he was one big mean horse,
And he made me work hard for my pay.
I showed them I had sand, and with day money in hand,
I took off for my next rodeo town,
Money for gas and beans, and enough cash in my jeans,
To get my next entry fee laid down.
I have very little to show, from those days of rodeo,
Just some buckles made from pot metal,
Really painful bone chips, and pins in my hips,
Thanks to a bronc named Red Kettle.
You may think this is talk, but I’ve rode lots of rough stock,
And some broncs are harder to set,
But that devil in gray hide, gave me my toughest ride,
A ride I will never forget.