Them bareback horses are the only thing
that make your arm hurt and make your bell ring.
Their hard-on tailbones and they make your neck sore.
And when it's all over,
you're craving some more.
Well,
you drive down the road in a broke-down car,
and you stop in some town,
wonder where in the hell you are.
You get yourself a road map and head out once again
with only enough for fees so you're damn sure better win.
You finally make the pitching
with your entry fees all paid and get on
another snatcher and he flings you away.
So you head
to town broken-hearted,
looking for a chance to get a little drunk and find some girl and
dance.
You see a little girl at the bar all alone,
and you whip some words on her to get
her to take you home.
But she's got a big boyfriend who just come from the can,
and
he says,
move on,
buddy,
because he's her loving man.
So you climb back in your car
after your little bitty fight.
You're drunk and broken-hearted,
and it's twelve o'clock
at night,
and you ain't got a dime in your old blue jeans.
But by golly, you got a half
a tank of gas and a can of pork and beans.
You write a hot check to pay your fees once
again,
you got yourself a good one,
so you ought to win.
The horse is standing in the
chute and then he bucks around,
the whistle blows,
and then you're standing on the ground.
The judges total the markings and they tally up the score,
and you're beating everybody
by at least ten points or more.
So you climb back in your car with a pocket full of cash,
a good feeling in your heart,
and a tank full of gas.
But boys, the day finally comes when
you get old and gray,
and you got to take your spurs off and put your rigging away.
And you look back now with a wanting eye,
but brother,
it's all gone,
so you sit and
cry.