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.

I wrote this one a few years back... I think it bears little explanation.

Lonesome, Broke and Cold

Here I sit along this country road;
my truck was tired, that I knowed.
I never thought she'd up an' quit
But, beside the road, well - now I sit.

My most faithful partner when it comes to travelin'
I guess I shoulda paid better attention to all her rattlin'.
My buddies all warned me, I said she weren't too old,
now I am stuck here - feelin' lonesome, broke and cold.

I guess it don't matter much anyhow;
bucked off the last few, aint got the entry fee now.
It's just a small-town rodeo, I'll miss it - won't be the first time;
just burns me though, 'cause Ill have to pay a fine.

Been a rough go lately, them injuries seem to linger;
got that pulled groin, cracked ribs, and I busted my finger.
Seems they used to heal faster, guess I'm gettin' old;
I'd give some serious thought - if I weren't so lonesome, broke and cold.

I could hang it all up, head home 'n work steers;
tho', I've been runnin' from steady work for years.
Besides punching cows, there aint nothin' at home,
My brother wrote me a letter to tell me she's gone.

She told everyone she got tired of waitin' on me.
My love for the life - the travelin' - the buckles - well, I guess I just didn't see
that while I was out chasin' glory, her love it growed old.
But now I've time for reflection - sitting here lonesome, broke and cold.

There's a moral to this story that in your own heart you know;
if you're gonna spend your time chasin' rodeo,
you best not neglect those things that need tendin' - now you've been told -
or you'll wind up stranded, feelin' lonesome, broke and cold.

This is one I wrote when driving along the north coast of California - we were headed to a bull riding near Ft. Bragg.

Where Are All the Cattle?

Where are the cattle?
The hands tall in the saddle?
Where have all the big ranches gone?

If you’d look you’d be knowin’
There’s vineyards a growin’.
‘Bout grapes, I just can’t write no song.