He says that in his younger days
He rode the rodeos
But now he tends the gardens
Of the folks up on the hill
Bucking broncs and Brahma bulls
And only once been throwed
But it left him with a gimpy leg
And a thirst that he can't fill
In his Frisco jeans
And an old "Can't bust them" shirt
Acme Roughouts run down at the heels
And caked with dirt
Sweat stained Stetson
Pulled down low
And a leg that always hurts
Frisco jeans
And an old "Can't bust them" shirt
He says that in his younger days
He rode with old Pontrel
But he never
Never let them put his name
Or his picture
In a book
He sends us down for Beechnut
And he sips his Muscatel
And says, "You know, boys
I'm a whole lot older than I look"
He's known his share of women
And he's dealt his share of cards
And he'd bet some pennies with us
He never carries change
And as he clips the hedges
And waters down the yards
He says it sure is a far sight
From that wild buffalo range
In his Frisco jeans
And an old "Can't bust them" shirt
Acme Roughouts run down at the heels
And caked with dirt
Sweat stained Stetson
Pulled down low
And a leg that always hurts
Frisco jeans
And an old "Can't bust them" shirt
Frisco jeans
And an old "Can't bust them" shirt