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On a cold montana morning |
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On the road to idaho |
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I watched her order hot and black to go. |
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And her boots and spurs and blue jeans |
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And the lonely in her eyes |
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Told me just how much she loved the rodeos. |
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I asked where she was headin', |
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She said, the boise show. |
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She took a third in butte just yesterday. |
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No, she never has been married, |
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And she probably never will, |
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'cause silver buckle dreams |
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Don't leave time for standing still. |
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Chorus |
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Round and round and round she goes |
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Where she stops nobody knows. |
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The miles are gettin' longer, |
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The nights they never end. |
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Old rodeos and livestock shows |
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Keep the lady on the go. |
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Lord, she loves to run those barrels, |
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And it's the only life she knows. |
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For now on fifteen seasons |
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The circuit's been her home, |
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And at times she misses kids she never had. |
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But she wouldn't trade a minute |
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Of the years that she's got in it, |
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'cause she's had herself some happy, |
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She's learned to take the sad. |
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When I looked up from my coffee |
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I saw boise on her mind, |
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She had that look of leavin' in her eyes. |
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As she drove into the morning |
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It slowly dawned on me |
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How hard it is to tell a dream goodbye |
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Round and round and round she goes |
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Where she stops nobody knows. |
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The miles are gettin' longer, |
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The nights they never end. |
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Old rodeos and livestock shows |
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Lord, she loves to run those barrels, |
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And it's the only life she knows. |
