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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