This old hat of mine has seen the time when we were just beginnin’. Those days were rough but we were tough. We had our share of winnin’.

This hat I’ve worn has kept me warm while searching in the saddle for two young calves left all alone. Their moms had lost the battle.

To my daughter’s despair, my hat was there as we watched our grandson born. Yet I took it off when grandma passed, hat in hand, we all did mourn.

I remember the time when Jake tossed me high, then came down hard on the ground. But my hat stayed in place. There is no disgrace for a lid that keeps your head sound.

Now the top of my head hasn’t seen a hair’s thread since forty-odd years passed me by. But my hat don’t complain. It stays just the same, slightly cocked there above my right eye.

Well the other day I considered a way to trade in my hat for a new one. The clerk said to me, “three hundred bucks, please,” and we left that place on a run.

This hat was here when I wed one so dear. Did I think it would still stay around? Well, each morn when I look, it’s still there on its hook. I know just where it can be found.

So with luck I’ll have more years with this hat. It’s a classic at this old place. Cuz it fits down snug, guarding this mug. Yes, I think it adds grit to my face.

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