| He stood out in the Cheyenne area dust by the latch on chute number four
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| The young cowboys were laughin' at him and at the out of date clothes that he
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| wore
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| Though his trophy buckle was old it told of the glory he surely had seen
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| And the beard that showed neath his old John B was wirey silver sheen
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| With a plug in his lip from his back pocket rip and his faded old denim jeans
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| blue
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| Where a halo show white like a moon in the night
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| Was a hole where his snoozed worn through
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| He spat in the dust and he bitterly cussed as the bull tried to tear down the
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| chute
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| Then he looked up at me with a gleam in his eye
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| And he placed his old hand on my boot
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| He said you’ll ride this old bull on your worst ever day
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| With your hind leg chained to a tree
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| As I am made ready to concur the brute here’s an old song my old man sang to me
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| Go ridin' young cowboy go winnin' and goin' out boy
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| Don’t let him put you on the ground
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| Go spur him young cowboy de fur him riding out boy
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| Show 'em that your Oklahoma bound
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| Well I marked eighty points and I won me the round
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| The fans in the stands went plum wild
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| Well I could see my old daddy just a dancin' a jig
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| Well I looked up to the Lord and I smiled
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| I said thanks for my good arm and thanks for my luck
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| And thanks that I’m still fit and young
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| But thanks most of all for them old bulls that buck
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| For my dad and the song that he sung
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| Go ridin' young cowboy…
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| Well I’ve been down the road many miles since that day
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| Things ain’t changed much since I’ve begun
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| I still think of my dad when I’m ropin' one up and I sing his song to my son
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| Go ridin' young cowboy…
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| Go ridin' young cowboy… |