He steps in his boots that have a tear in the sole
Throws his saddle on a horse that he raised from a foal
Grabs a few dogs and starts the rig, every job means a lot, but they're not all big
Now a dog that will hunt is sure handy down here, for the cattle are wild as a white tailed deer
They carry high horns and tiger stripes, he hopes the pens are stout and made out of pipes
Not penning them all is his only worry, he drives em slow to the trap, never gets in a hurry
Chute by chute every cow gets a shot, and has the yearlings at the barn before the day gets hot
No tooled saddles, no shiny conchos, this life isn't fancy but it's the one he chose
He'll never get rich around this operation, day working cowboy is his occupation