| I’m seated in the grandstand at a big-time rodeo
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| With my walking stick beside me as I watch the scene below
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| There are youngon’s ridin' outlaws as I did when young and free
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| And I wonder are there many old ex-riders here like me
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| The horses they are ridin' couldn’t buck to save their hide
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| Oh I’d like to see these youngon’s on the ones I used to ride
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| I’ve used the likes of spinifex for a night horse on the run
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| And brahma bulls like Wadgerra, we rode them just for fun
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| The saddles they are using are designed to hold you in
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| And the halter shanks are silky so as not to hurt your skin
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| We rode in flattened? |
| Poleans? |
| In the days of long ago
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| And could have rolled a smoke aboard the likes of Curio
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| The steers they use for doggin' are no bigger than a calf
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| And the time they take to throw them make us old timers laugh
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| We used to scrub big Mickey’s twice the size in cattle yards
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| Oh but that was many years ago way back when times were hard
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| These youngon’s dress so lairy in their fancy cowboy suits
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| We used to ride in moleskins and a pair of Bluecha boots
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| But all our glory’s vanished, we’re forgotten men, it seems
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| Old riders in the grandstand alone with all our dreams |