Welcome To The Bullpen
The Roan They Call the Outlaw
By Malcolm Davey
I’ve seen him around at the big rodeo,
Everyone loves him; he gives them a show.
He’s a rugged old roan with plenty of will,
To stay on his back would be such a thrill.
Standing alone behind chute number eight,
He has a look in his eye; it could only be hate.
He's one of the best; he has never been rode,
I am a champion, I have never been throw’d.
I sit on the fence then I jump on his back,
I knew this outlaw would be a tough nut to crack.
They open the gate and he starts to buck,
To stay for the count I will need lots of luck.
He throws his old belly way up to the sky,
Then up on all fours he sends me up high.
Back down to earth he swings to the right,
He’s a son of a gun; he’s got plenty of fight.
Kicking his hind legs high up in the air,
I land in the dirt and he gives me a stare.
I dust down my hat and my pride is all torn,
Then I curse the day that he’d ever been born.
I’ve ridden many a horse; he’s one of a kind,
He could turn on a dime and leave you behind.
They call him the Bandit and that’s no surprise,
He's robbed me of winning my rodeo prize.
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