My shirt is pressed and my jeans could be cleaner,
Them ol' bulls are mean but I'm a whole lot meaner.
We love the old game of rodeo.
We play to win and we plan to go.
We ride the roads for hours upon end,
Stop in some little down, and start over again.
We'll start to drink, and pick a fight,
Find some rooms and stay the night.
In the mornin' with our heads in our hands,
We'll see another part of this great land.
We'll look at the sun and see it shining so bright,
And wonder why we drank so much last night.
But we can't waste time we got to go.
To another little town called Amarillo.
Someday I'll look back, and wonder why,
I lived on the road for half my life.
And the only retort I'll be able to give,
Is that that's just the life I chose to live.