| There’s a rodeo in Montana where they come from miles around
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| Where they throw the hooligan and a bunch of beer cans
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| All over that little cow town from Friday night to Sunday afternoon
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| The party goes on nonstop
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| Ranch hands and rodeo fans are drinking up the very last drop
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| And they all head for Montana at the foot of the Great Divide
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| To tie one up or tie one onor to tear it down or ride
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| So if you’re lookin' for a rondavue where the Wild West never dies
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| You best make it on up to Montana on the right day in July
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| Now there’s some college boys for lazuli here school is just let out
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| They got a keg of beer on a tub of ice in the back of a brand new Scout
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| Well they’re all longhorns and as sure as you’re born
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| They’ll be checkin' those honey’s out
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| And the girls in the cut off jeans might just show 'em what its all about
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| And there’s Indians from the ranches all dressed up in cowboy clothes
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| Snap button shirts and silver belt buckles and boots with pointed toes
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| Short hair Stetson hats wiggin' on a jug of Yellow Stone
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| Well they look more like cowboys then the cowboys I have known
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| And there’s some hippies here from God knows where a puffin' up a cloud of smoke
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| They got hair down past their shoulders and their clothes are a national joke
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| They got beads and leather and bells and feathers and moccasins for shoes
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| Well they look more like Indians than the real live Indians do
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| And then there’s barrel racers and a bull riders and bronc stompers to boot
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| Struttin' their stuff like Peacocks out in back of the chutes
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| Tight Levis fancy chaps spurs with five star rowels
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| And the bull just stands there chewin' his cut lookin' wiser than a tree full
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| of owls
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| And they all head for Montana… |