His name was Robert Clayborn but the whole town called him Buck

He didnt have a whole lot cept his cowdog and his truck

And Id hang out on the front porch of his shack just west of town

And soak up all his stories til the Texas sun went down



Hed sip his flask of bourbon while I sipped a bottle coke

Id almost wet my pants yall just laughing at his jokes

He taught me how to cuss and how to lose at dominoes

And how to throw a roundhouse right if it ever came to blows



Chorus:

We were the toughest hombres

We were the best of friends

And freedom never felt so free

As sittin there on that front porch way back when

When it was Buck Clayborn and me



Now some town folks called him drunkard and they called my Daddy twice

Concerned that my virtue to be exposed to all Bucks vice

I can still hear Mrs. Beasley tell my Mama I declare Im afraid to see what kind of manners your boy picks up down there.



But what a preacher could not teach me about how to talk to God

I learned from Buck a prayin when we buried his old dog

He said Please take him to heaven Lord if you let an old dog in

And bless dear Mrs. Beasley, shes a peach, Amen.



Sometimes I like to come home, and stand on this very spot

And though the porch we sat and laughed on is now an asphalt parking lot

I can still hear his old whiskey voice whisper on the wind sayin

How bout a game of checkers son, if youre lucky Ill let you win



Whoa, take me back to that front porch once again

When it was Buck Clayborn and me