| By about the time that I came around
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| He’d grown tired, his health was headed southbound
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| He was slow climbing in the saddle
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| But once he was up, he could fly
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| Lord, he could fly
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| He told me stories 'bout California gold
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| Working with Shorty in that West Texas cold
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| He was rough as a cob, tougher than nails
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| But when he talked about her, he would cry
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| Oh, how he’d cry
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| And I learned how to rope and I learned how to pray
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| And how actions speak louder than any words you may say
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| Like busting broncs I’ve hung on for dear life
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| To everything that he ever said
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| Oh, and though he’s long gone
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| I’m still out here riding with Red
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| I never liked or learned too much from school
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| He taught me the hard knocks and the Golden Rule
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| How to chew, how to spit, work hard and never quit
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| He gave me money so I could spend it on the girls
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| And I learned how to rope and I learned how to pray
|
| And how actions speak louder than any words you may say
|
| Like busting broncs I’ve hung on for dear life
|
| To everything that he ever said
|
| Oh, and though he’s long gone
|
| I’m still out here riding with Red
|
| And I learned how to rope and I learned how to pray
|
| And how actions speak louder than any words you may say
|
| And like busting broncs I’ve hung on for dear life
|
| To everything that he ever said
|
| And I’ll keep singing his song
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| So his memory lives on
|
| Oh, and though he’s long gone
|
| I’m still out here riding with Red
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| Riding with Red |