Little children sing along
with cowboy tunes
just like when I was young
we rode broomstick horses

Covered the plains
chasing after the sun
Children and loving
fall together in the autumn

Kept the brandy
in special spot
under the steps
saved for
Sunday company

Daddy would ride into town
just for the show
Mommy would kiss us good night
put on the radio

Old Hank would sing us a lullaby
just for the lost roughneck

Slight of hand
would guide me
to the spot on the floor
I'd sing like
"a pint-sized troubadour"

Momma would laugh
she let me stay next to her
rocking in that old chair

I walked into the room
ripped the army green
top to bottom
sat on my bed and cried

I was a man who learned
to live while others died

reputation grew
for a tavern driven fool
who crawled
in the bottle of time

real world lives and finds
listening to the music
that comforts our soul draws
a line from horses made of wood
to girls trying to find
your soul
it is a fine line indeed

Child to adult
we all like to find
roots and play
for the band

Blooded hands
made from hard heads
and soft walls of youth
stuck to fresh
starched sheets

Direction changed
by those who know
the difference between
the good stuff

Gathered up the fool
moved to the right side
of the tracks to save a few

Momma put up
with a drinking daddy
now her son
decided to turn it around

Fast cars and show in glow
to make it down
the new road
of College walls

I remember broom stick horses
when life was as simple as waking up

Step back count your blessings
sing to your children make believe
leaves the wonder of a new world
far behind but a new and better life

Tall and straight I walk
setting the example,
burning bridges all gone
no one left to know
of broomstick horses
death dealt, freedom given

Bottle long ago broken
cars sold for
computer games, respectable

Still a bit of me is left
on the road
looking for where I have been
where I have gone

Giddy up "Old Paint"
one more ride