The old rodeo cowboy he’d been drinking liquor in big gulps

He’d got bent down over broncs and throwed dirty dirty

His sassy old lady was doing all of the barn chores

He was fixin’ to pawn his Granddad’s 30-30

His neighbors were always welcome to stop for supplies

Today there wasn’t even a spare bale of alfalfa hay

The old cowboy was hobblin’ around in soiled pants and barefoot

He’d of never thought he’d be seen this a’ way

He made The Finals he never dare conceived

The Finals he could never dare consider strongly to believe

The house and ranch went to foreclosure and left no folding money

His wife took his children and rodeo life shook his hand like a thief

Cowtown was in lust with cattle barons or hot circuit cowboys

He got lost on a Greyhound bus to the Dakota Prairie Sundance land

The cowboy in him was dirty dirty and his Wild West was just as thirsty

His ticket was to a Mr. S. Spur to the cantle Native American shaman

Mr. Shaman Spur took the old cowboy inside the teepee and set him up tight

He laid him on a leather cot and cut off his one set of cowboys clothes

There he headed him down a trail with a pump handle on the well

Shaman Spur grinned, “Pump enough wah wah to make you smell like a rose.”

Very early in the morning a pile of venison steaks fried hot in the pan

Shaman Spur says in broken English, “Cowboy, horseback is where you went

Right and where you went wrong, we both need a better understanding of horse religion

We love colts and fillies and give them prestigious names like they were heaven sent…


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