When
I was just a very young lad,
I walked up and I told my dad,
a bareback rider's what I want to be.
I want the whole world to know about me.
In the rodeo arena I'll take my stand.
I want to be known as a rodeo man.
I'll come flying from the chute with my spurs up high,
chaps and boots reaching for the sky,
spurring wild with my head throat back.
You'll ask, who's that?
Well, that's bareback Jack.
You'll ask, who's that?
Well, that's bareback Jack.
The years of boyhood now have passed.
It didn't take long to learn the tricks real fast.
Now I'm going down the road with my rodeo gear.
And I hope to make the finals in just a few years.
And when my chance comes,
I'll give it a whirl and try to win the championship of the world.
I'll come flying from the chute with my spurs up high,
chaps and boots reaching for the sky,
spurring wild with my head throat back.
You'll all know me.
My name's bareback Jack.
Well,
here I am.
I'm laying in bed.
A son of a buck jumped onto my head.
I'm laying here
dying and hurting real bad.
Now I wish I'd listened to my old dad
when he said,
son,
you better quit fooling around.
You're going to get your gut stomped into the ground.
You'll come flying from the chute with your tail up high.
That old bucking horse is going to throw you in the sky.
When you come down,
you're going to break your back.
And then we'll all know you as old
crippled up Jack in a wheelchair with a broken back.