Lyrics:

1993**lf**Writer(s): Curley Fletcher, Nathaniel H. Vincent, Fred Howard**lf**feat. Chris LeDoux**lf****lf**I was hanging round town, just spending my time**lf**Being out of a job and not earning a dime**lf**A fellow walks up, and he says, ''I suppose**lf**You''re a bronc rider, from the looks of your clothes''**lf****lf**''Well, you figured me right, and I''m a good one, I claim**lf**Would you happen to have any outlaws to tame?''**lf**He says, ''I''ve got one and a good one to buck**lf**At throwing top riders, he''s had lots of luck''**lf****lf**He says this here''s one pony that''s never been rode**lf**And the man that gets on him is bound to get throwed**lf**I got all heat up and I asked what he''d pay**lf**To ride this old nag for a couple of days**lf****lf**Well, he offered me ten, and I says, ''I''m your man**lf**For the bronc isn''t living that I couldn''t fan''**lf**He says, ''Get your saddle, I''ll give you the chance''**lf**So we hopped in his buckboard and rode to his ranch**lf****lf**Out in the horse corral, standing alone**lf**Is an old cavallo, a strawberry roan**lf**Little pin ears that touch at the tip**lf**A big 44 brand upon his left hip**lf****lf**He was spavined all round, and he had pigeon toes**lf**Little pig eyes and a big roman nose**lf**U-necked and old, with a long lower jaw**lf**You could tell at a glance he''s a regular outlaw**lf****lf**Well, I buckle on my spurs, and I''m sure feeling fine**lf**I pull down my hat and I pick up my twine**lf**Throw my loop on him and well I know then**lf**Before he gets rode, I''ll sure earn my ten**lf****lf**I get the blinds on him with a terrible fight**lf**Next comes the saddle, and I cinch him up tight**lf**Then I step on him and raise up the blinds**lf**''Get out of the way, boys, he''s bound to unwind''**lf****lf**Well, I threw him his head, and I''ll say he unwound**lf**He seemed to quit living down here on the ground**lf**Went up in the east and come down in the west**lf**I''m sitting up on him and doing my best**lf****lf**He sure was a frog-walker, he heaved a big sigh**lf**He only lacked wings for to be on the fly**lf**Turned his old belly right up to the sun**lf**He sure was a sunfishing son of a gun**lf****lf**He''s about the worst bucker I''ve seen on the range**lf**He could turn on a nickle and give you some change**lf**I lost both my stirrups and also my hat**lf**I''m reaching for leather and blind as a bat**lf****lf**He come down on all fours, and he went up on high**lf**And he left me a-spinning up there in the sky**lf**Turned over twice and I come down to the earth**lf**And I lit into cussing the day of his birth**lf****lf**Now I know there''s ponies that I cannot ride**lf**There''s some of them living, they haven''t all died**lf**But I''ll bet my money there''s no man alive**lf**Who can stay with old Strawberry when he makes his high dive