| The blood on my sheets has soaked through the bandage
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| that they wrapped around the stitches in my side
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| These old country doctors have come to expect it
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| from the cowboys that come here once a year to ride
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| Now starin' at the ceiling I’m trying to get my senses
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| but I can’t recall too much of yesterday
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| except for some cussin' at that bull we call chisum
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| as they turned us out of chute number 3
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| Chisum, Chisum you’re a big bad son of a gun
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| Your hide is tough and it’s been scarred
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| Where spurs have dug in deep but never hung
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| Chisum you’re the only reason that I keep on riding
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| And I’ll ride you before my ridin’s done
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| Someone’s brought in the paper and I’m starin' unbelievin'
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| At the story that’s laid out before my eyes
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| It talks about you chisum how they brought you up from Texas
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| And the cowboy that made a valiant 7 second ride
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| It mentions how you broke your leg when we went down together
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| And it talks about your horn in my side
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| But it’s goin' on to say how they had to put you away
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| But it don’t tell about these tears in my eyes
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| Chisum Chisum I love you you son of a gun
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| Your hide was tough and it was scarred
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| Where my spurs had dug in deep but never hung
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| Chisum I tell you my ridin' days are done
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| cause after you theres nothing left to ride |