For I knew I drank enough Pendleton Whisky

My irrational fear could I cut the mustard

I lost all clout and had deep doubts

About becoming a Round-Up Hall-of-Fame buster

 

The night I called “The Hall” on the phone

I made my good intentions well known

Even though old rodeo cowboys are in a category

When you get Round-Up mail it hits a local to the bone

 

The letter was concealed from Tutuilla Creek

Boy’s what in the hell was this return address wreck

Who on Tutuilla Creek did I tick off this time

As I opened I realized its all 100% respect

 

If you haven’t been down to the bottom of a whiskey bottle

The rich rock stars blasphemy lyrics from their pigeons

No if everything you touch blows up like a flip out artist

Your walk of fame can become quite sacrilegious

 

Then do all your things right and wish all well

You eat right, sleep tight, and right the wrongs

You forget about love and begin to let live

Then you pen pages of cowboy poetry just to get along

 

Today it was a golden Round-Up Hall of Fame letter that broke me off

Deep down I knew I never belonged to that part of the clique

The letter was slower than molasses, but secretly I cried when it arrived

Round-Up and I got back together must be her grass that did the trick…

 

 

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