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There's a buckin' barrel on rotted ropes Still hanging in the yard...
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"I'm getting too old for this", I says to Rusty- As I drop in my saddle, and measure my rein.
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The sands of time run swiftly now- My cowboyin’s nearly done.
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Coins dropped in the pay phone- Make a lonely sound.
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The sand and the sage seem to stretch on forever- The road has no end for a rodeo man.
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My mind’s been kind of driftin’
Down a long and winding trail.
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I don't own nothin'
cept an empty bank account
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I bathe in a river stem, as my horse stands by and watches me.
This is probably the last for a while; tomorrow at five AM,
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It’s been a long road, I will have to admit; But I’ve faced the fact, pard- It’s high time, I quit-
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It’s been a lot of years now- Since last I punched a cow…
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Sagebrush blown on trails dusty,
silver spurs now worn and rusty.
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The old ways are dying, or that's what they say-
And nobody cares for the Cowboy way.
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When I was a youngster, Not more than a pup-
I learned an expression…“You gotta, Cowboy up!”
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My thighs are still hurting from gripping the swells-
My right shoulder aches every rain-
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While sitting in that airport lounge-
Just staring at my knee.
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Everyone knew Texas Panhandle Roy
most called him Cattle Trail Slim
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A story my Grandfather told me about his two uncles.
Gramp passed at the age of 88. 15 years ago.
I would put those two uncles out West
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’Powder River’ working pens-
Rusty from disuse…
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The sand and the sage seem to stretch on forever-
The road has no end for a rodeo man.
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Faintest smell of cedar-
Wafted by the breeze...
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Living from a suitcase-
And driftin’ cross the land.
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Sitting in a café, an old man said to me-
“I know you fer a cowboy that much is plain to see.
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The gentle breezes blowing
Stir mesquite and cottonwood-
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On a misty, autumn evening,
As the sun sinks in the west...
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The lighted sign across the street says ninety-nine degrees.
I just spent my last c-note to pay my entry fees.
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Mahan, and Hawkeye, and Freckles, and Gay—
Each of them made the Pro Rodeo pay.
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Faded Wrangler denims, Paul Bond’s on my feet-
Prescott in the summer, I can feel the blazing heat.
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“A Cowboy Christmas Eve”
Standing by a campfire,
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Christmas Came to Rocky Creek
The winter wind was blowing hard,
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