Rounder

We were cowboys and roughnecks,
hippies and rounders
I'm a bronc bustin son of a gun

I liked the sound of a roulette wheel,
amidst the tumbling dice
The cards were dealt
Rounders and risky shakers,
play the game of chance

I was a wanderer, a poet and a fool
She was a pretty lady, a firecracker,
flowers in her hair and a fiery style
Her bell bottom flairs in my mind
Her round bottom caught my rambling eyes

I wished to see this sweet young thing
in the firelight under the moon
A starry sight, A silver sensation
I wished to hold her golden husk
and see her in the nude

She said I like you
I liked you the second you walked in
She was a sweet lady
and her aura swept my eyes
They danced like whirl winds

I'm just a ramblin son of a gun
She blinded me with her beauty
Her curves of luminescent aureolas
lifted her above me, carrying me
in sensual reverie

I was just a rounder
A bronc bustin son of a gun,
but she thought I was the sun,
so I shined upon her
with beams of golden love

She said I like a cowboy
and my spurs did spin around
When I got her in my arms,
I'd kiss her pretty mouth
I'd ride her sultry curves

We were cowboys and roughnecks,
hippies and rounders
I was a bronc busted son of a gun

© CJ Clark