[Verse]
West Texas sun burnin' holes in my back,
Chasin' black gold, pockets thick with the stack.
Rig hands dancin' with a blowout's wrath,
Life hangin' by a thread on this crooked path.
Steel toes tap the rhythm, mud caked on my boots,
Clock in, clock out, but the grind never scoots.
High wages, yeah, but the price is steep,
Got dreams on the horizon, but my body don't sleep.
[Chorus]
Black gold hustle, livin' life on the edge,
Danger’s on the highway, hangin' by a thread.
Long hours, big pay, but the toll’s too real,
Oilfield blues, yeah, that's the deal.
[Verse 2]
Highway 285, that devil's breathin' fire,
Big rigs and Fords, every mile's a wire.
Drivers playin' chicken, ain't no rules in sight,
You can clock out forever on a Friday night.
Crew in the doghouse, stories gettin' told,
Some young blood braggin' 'bout his stacks of gold.
But we seen too many buried, too many gone,
Every drill bit turn feels like a ticking bomb.
[Chorus]
Black gold hustle, livin' life on the edge,
Danger’s on the highway, hangin' by a thread.
Long hours, big pay, but the toll’s too real,
Oilfield blues, yeah, that's the deal.