in my pickup truck

went to a local rodeo in Brownsville

and found me a long-haired Texas cowgirl

who offered me a southern thrill

well, i couldn't believe what i found:

there were cowboys and their wild horses running around,

but that wasn't the only sound.

i showed her my leather saddle;

she showed me her panhandle paddle.

said her name was Jill

and she lived near Brownsville;

said her old man's name was James

but he didn't like playing any cotton-picking games!

did i feel lucky? or incomplete?

could i ride the bronco for the winner's treat?

well, i didn't want to admit defeat

but the taste in my mouth was bittersweet

as i jumped in my pickup truck,

thinking maybe there was no such thing as luck.

those big boys with silver belts and ten gallon hats

swinging their big baseball bats,

were looking at me with an angry Texas stare,

just knew i had to get out of there.

with my foot on the gas and a quick backward glance,

her old man can take her to the evening barn yard dance.

me, on the westerly road speeding outside of town,

knowing i'd miss the upcoming hoedown.

there were cowboys and their horses running around,

but i was California bound

in my pickup truck,

thinking maybe there was no such thing as luck,

in my pickup truck,

California bound:

the wind in my hair the only sound.