Eight Second Win

Now the Cowboys hit the road again,
chasing the dream of that eight-second win.
They drive for miles to various towns;
finding their nerve in a loud, screaming crowd.
The events separate the men from the boys;
they try to hang on until that shrill whistle noise.
The rough stock ridden is unforgiving;
bucking and swooping, whirling and spinning.
When one rides well and gets the high score;
plucking a check is nothing to ignore.
Before they can leave or call it a night;
drinking is a must! To a bar they will drive.
Some will find a cute buckle bunny;
dancing, touching, and calling her yummy.
Others will head straight to the bar;
tossing a buddy the keys to his car.
At closing time, most won’t be sober;
wishing they’d parked their rig a bit closer.
Morning comes and all are hung over;
finding new pain in their hips, knees or shoulders.
Bruised and broken the profession is rough;
knowing that kind of pain, cowboys are tough.
Yet, forever they’ll ride, clear ‘til the end.
Thirsting the dream those eight seconds win.