(Verse 1) Raised on dust and diesel smoke, Tough as rawhide, born broke. Rope burns, whiskey, Friday lights, Eight seconds to make it right. (Verse 2) Boots in the dirt, hand on the rope, He don’t pray — he just hopes. Gate flies wide, the crowd gets loud, Ain’t no fear in a rodeo crowd. (Chorus) He’s a storm in the chute, lightning eyes, Eight seconds where the wild one flies. Blood and bone, heart and pride, He was made to ride — yeah, made to ride. (Verse 3) Bull spins hard, sky turns ground, Every jump’s another round. Grip that rope, dig those spurs, Eight seconds blur, the rest’s a slur. (Bridge) Buzzer screams, dust rolls low, Tips his hat — time to go. No crown, no gold, just the feel, Of chasing down what’s real. (Final Chorus) He’s a storm in the chute, lightning eyes, Eight seconds where the wild one flies. Blood and bone, heart and pride, He was made to ride — yeah, made to ride. (Outro) Eight seconds of forever — That’s all he needs to ride.
