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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required What is oil field trash is the question most people ask. They’re a different breed of people, who take on dangerous tasks. Very few old roughnecks still have all their fingers or their toes. It’s not uncommon for a broken bone or banged up nose. I started young I worked real hard. This old worn out body is my final reward. Money was great to say the least. We could dine like kings at a noble feast. You had to have lived it, worked the patch. And hear that old driller holler, boy you better make em latch. There was a brotherhood between the crews. The more experienced hands reaped the better dues. The newest hand they call the worm. Some of their lingo, just an oil field term. Once you become a certified member to this exclusive club. Everybody will know you at the local pub. Those old drilling rigs come in all sizes and shapes. Once you get it in your blood, there is just no escape. I don’t know if it’s an adrenaline rush that gets you all fired up. But it got me hooked when I was just a pup. Right now all that is left or just memories and this hidden thought. Of a life gone by, and the lessons it taught. I’m proud to have been one of the oil fields many elite. And I think being oil field trash is just pretty unique. From the ground to the crown, from the rake to the brake. Getting old is possibly my worst mistake.
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