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-
- The
task ahead is mighty,
- each
cowboy knows his lot,
- it’s
win or lose the bounty,
- an’
go up or down a slot
-
- He
straddles the great Brahma
-
inside the narrow chute,
- pulls
his hat down good ‘n tight
-
before he gives the boot
-
- Ties
his hand to the bell_rope,
-
secures it once or twice,
- then
scoots himself above it
- while
the bull ain’t actin’ nice
-
- The
critter snorts ‘n paws the dirt
- just
waitin’ to dismount
- the
cowboy sittin’ on his back
-
before eight_seconds count
-
- Then
rider gives a signal,
- it’s
usually just a nod,
- an’
the keeper of the gate pulls wide,
- an’
runs thru’ muck ‘n sod
-
- Out
comes the bull like lightnin’,
- he’s
movin’ awful fast,
-
twistin’ an’ a turnin’
- in
hopes the guy won’t last
-
- Dirt
‘n dust is flyin’ as
- that
bull spins round an’ round,
- up
an’ down he’s leapin’
- to
toss rider to the ground
-
- The
cowboy keeps his free arm
-
swingin’ in the air,
- it’s
man ‘n beast contestin’,
- an’
it’s do, or die, or dare
-
- The
buzzer fin’lly screeches,
- an’
the rider just wants down,
- he
jumps clear of the killer bull,
- an’
hides behind a clown
-
- He’s
hopin’ for a buckle,
- an’
that championship pay,
- but
if he just breaks even,
- he’ll
try another day
-
-
‘Cause rodeoin’s in his blood,
- he
knows no other life,
- an’
very few are lucky
- with
an understandin’ wife
-
- Folks
scratch their heads in wonder
- at
what makes a person ride,
- but
only he can answer
-
‘cause it’s somethin’ deep inside
-
- Is
the cowboy brave or crazy,
- they
just can’t say for sure,
- but
they’ll stare in sheer amazement
- when
he gives that bull the spur
-
- The
crowds ‘ll keep on comin’
- as
long as cowboys choose
- to
ride the frightful Brahmas,
-
competin’, win or lose…
-
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Poetry by Tamara
Hillman
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Copyright 2005
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