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He started working leather when he was a lad
Stop by the saddle shop on his way home from school
He knew that was his first love
Old wood burning stove for heat, It was all the old shop had
The old saddle maker on his stool
Seemed like they fit like a glove

There was something about the smell of that place
The rolls of new leather, their special scent
Old saddles brought in for repair, hours of tears and horse sweat
The old saddle maker worked at a slow pace
Owned the shop, paid no rent
Around the  old stove, is where the cowboys met

For pocket change, the boy would sweep the floor every night
As he would watch the old saddle maker work the leather
The young boy would saddle soap the old saddle clean
Some nights the old saddle maker would work until after midnight
Always seemed to be angry in hot weather
Saying," Hell no, won't have one of the fancy wind blowing machines" 

Knives, razors sharp, leather stamping tools galore
On the floor, scrapes of leather were everywhere
Each were a beauty, the saddle made by the old saddle maker
That was once the kid who once swept the floor
And learned from the old master who used to be there
The making of a old saddle maker

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