Bronc so damn mean he'd roll on his back
and try to buck the world off.
But you stayed with him through
every ball-breaking jump.
Legs in a whore's grip around those
Though you'd missed hooking him out of the
chute and knew you couldn't finish in
You stayed with him.
Knowing you'd have to thumb it out
to the dusty fair at Odessa.
With just your saddle for company
trying to forget the hospital.
Grampa Traner would laugh fit to bust
at your fancy outfit.
Or cuss what cowboying's come down to.
But you're the closest to the real thing
we got left out here.
So I reckon I'll be in Odessa to watch you
ride another little old bronc.
(Never was a bronc that couldn't be rode.
Never was a rider that couldn't be throwed.)
--old rodeo saying