Born to Ride

I used to be a loner,

It was the life I chose.

I traveled 'round the country,

While chasin' rodeos.

Motel rooms and pick-up seats-

Were a way of life.

No time to raise a family,

Nor time to take a wife.

My goal was be a champion-

To win fortune and fame,

To be the best that ever was,

To build myself a name.

But fortune always passed me by,

Or chose the other gate,

One day I sadly realized,

Cowboy, you're second rate.

But tell me, what's a man to do-

If all the trade he knows,

Is going down a rough old road,

To small town rodeos?

Sleepin' in hard, lumpy beds,

With too much time alone.

Living from a suitcase,

With the highway for his home?

But friend, I'm not complaining-

I wear the brand with pride,

I'm just a Texas tumbleweed-

Who fate decreed to ride.

I'll either ride them, or I won't

I'll score or I'll get throwed.

I'll bank a lot of memories,

From lots of miles of road...

So let this be my epitaph-

"He lived, he loved, he died-

Say what you will, it's evident,

The man was born to ride.