Wrote this when I was in the heat of the chase... people think we ride for some kind of glory or cool trophies, think again.

Bearin’ Down

Climb up the gate
And hang your rope.
Is he gonna buck hard?
You can only hope.

“Let’s go boys!” – clack!
They just turned another out.
That belly twistin’ bramer
Put your pard on the ground.

Looks like you’ll have to cover
Make a right pretty ride;
Er ther’ll be only cold beans for supper,
No hotel tonight.

Now there’s just two ahead
That last twister marked 89,
He spurred the hair off his side.
Now the pressure’s really on – ya gotta make a near perfect ride

An hour ago you were yuckin’ it up with yer pals back behind the chutes,
Now, yer focused – turned inward,
Checkin’ yer gear;
Crankin’down the straps on your boots.

A nod – clack!
You hear the crowd moan;
One more face down in the dirt,
Ol’ Trev gets up with a groan.

Your pard pulls your rope, as you drop your hooks down,
Yer so focused now, you tune out all the noise,
‘cept Rob, the clown.
He says, “Spur ‘em buddy” as you nod your head.
Clack! He bangs the gate ‘n takes leave of the ground

You reach forward, hold tight –
Ride jump for jump;
He settles to a tight spin,
You spur ‘em hard in the side – thump!

The crowd roars, and
He gets stronger as he twists ‘round;
You keep reachin’ ‘n liftin’
– waitin’ on that sound…

Finally! – The whistle, it blows and
You reach for yer tail,
Give a lift and look for
A safe place to bail.

Ol’ Rob slaps yer back
after taken ‘em out of the pen,
You hear the announcer say, “90.”
Cowboy! You win!

Was it the buckle you rode for?
The glory – beatin’ sure doom?
Naw, you stuck like a tick,
For some grub and a room!

…After all, it’s all ‘bout the money.