In old Cheyenne, last week of July,
Frontier Days is in town,
For nine days the town does rock,
As cowboys come trying to win a belt buckle.


The hundred seventh this year,
People come from the world over,
Cowboys come to compete,
As we become rip off city.


Bull riding and bareback,
Saddle bronc and steer wrestling.
Slack roping, barrel racing too,
And tie-down roping is included.


Step up and pay your money,
Try your hand to win the pot
And a coveted belt buckle,
Maybe even the all around.


Night shows sound
Rocks the night air,
As a carnival is in full swing,
Ride the rides and eat cotton candy.


Four parades we enjoy,
And three, free pancake breakfasts
Are put on,
So come one, come all.


An Indian village they do have,
Dancers all dressed up, and story tellers.
Something for one,
Something for all.


So come join us in old Cheyenne,
Come to our rodeo.
Come enjoy and take part,
Join us the last week of July.


Two things will always happen,
A gully washer and hotter than heck,
As the Thunderbirds perform,
Yep, this is my home town.


Thousands of locals volunteer,
And if you donít,
You try to get out of town.
But this is old Cheyenne.




© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


 

 

 

 



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Snow Melt

Moon Over The Mountain

What Was It?

Lost At Sea

One Hundred Legs

Sweet Nothings

Each Life A Flower

Aunt Ila's Love




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