| We held a funeral and a wake at the Diamondback Saloon
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| With every old-time cowboy agathered in one room
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| Swappin' tales and tellin' lies from days when they were young
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| Fearless buckaroos who always let the ponies run
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| I still see us behind the chutes, standin' in the sun
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| Light reflecting off the shiny buckles that we’d won
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| Farmin' boys from everywhere, just a ropin' in our dreams
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| Buckin' down the highway in old trucks and faded jeans
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| Cheyenne days to Fort Worth nights, we drove every inch of road
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| We often spoke our dreams out loud, sharing rooms and dirty clothes
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| The bandaged up, the broken ones, too tough to ever cry
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| The one we won the big go around, the drinks were ours to buy
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| Days were filled with mundane chores that kept us lean and mean
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| But our nights were spent out dancin' with the fairest girls we’d seen
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| Regaling them with wild ass tales, that weren’t that far from true
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| There wasn’t a single favor asked that your old pal wouldn’t do
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| And every year the finals drew us back to OKC
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| Shoulders, Mahan, Steiner, Vol, T-bone and old Duffy |
| And when the dust had settled and the last go-round was run
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| We stayed up all night singing songs 'til every song was sung
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| The broken bones and broken hearts that led to broken homes
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| And the trails we rode together, now we travel on alone
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| And the friends we saw each summer, now we hardly saw at all
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| A little something’s broken off each time a cowboy falls
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| Well adios amigos, see you down the line
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| I sure enjoyed the bullshit, cause it brought back some good times
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| And if you see those pals we knew from days when we were young
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| Tell them I stil saddle up just to feel the ponies run |