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His bones have been to hell and back his body's gouged and rough
His chaps they sit upon his legs as he does each buckle up
He feels the pain in his neck and back from every ride he missed
And the memory of every girl he never should have kissed

His ridin days are growin short as he pulls his hat down tight
His bronc sits in the steel chute as he's got a ride tonight
His legs are bruised and tattered his boots are scuffed and worn
He's waitin for a chance to feel that massive horse's scorn

His knees creek and crack with pain as he climbs that steel chute
The bronc stands tall and waivers none he knows that she won't spook
His saddle slides onto her back just like it always does
The flank is slid underneath her gut with that skinny belt of fuzz

He knows exactly what to do but his mind is in his pain
All he can think is it's a young man's sport as he grabs a hold of the rein
but he knows deep down that they don't see the heart of a younger man
So he grabs his stirrups and nods his head and he's off to the promise land

All they seen was a beat up old man whose prime had all but passed
His ridin days were done and gone and all the riders laughed
But he stands tall and has a laugh at there expense this time 
Because he's the one with the 87 and there at the back of the line

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