There must be someplace for old wore out cowboys
And broken down pickers and dreamers like me
Where the queue sticks are straight and the beer's always cold
And the juke box is playing hank williams for free
I've worked in pool rooms and bar rooms and bed rooms
Fron cheyenne to memphis there aint nothin new
Hot bodied young cowgirls, too many state fair bulls
I've rode em all till I'm busted and bruised

Now I picked my guitar till my fingers blistered
Bleedin and sweating and staining my jeans
They tried to whip me but more didnt than did
I'm proud of my dues and God has six strings