|
Come an'
listen to my story 'bout Badlands Bill.
Nobody knows how many he killed.
He'as a mean outlaw with a bad reputation,
An' was feared by most, in the Devil's River nation.
He'd a
glass-eyed Paint that was prone to buck,
An' his name said it all, it was just Bad Luck.
It was said that the mare that gave him birth
Was the meanest ol' critter on God's green Earth.
Now, Bill got
a itch for some fun one day,
So he found 'em a town for a scratch an' a stay.
When he went through the doors, 'bout half-passed-noon,
Not a word could be heard in the Juno Saloon.
There'as a man
at the bar who was quiet an' lean,
An' he gone by the name of Loco Gene.
He'd a pair of guns a-hangin' from his hips,
They was Colt .45's with pearl-handle grips.
Well, Bill had
a laugh at his fancy clothes
An' shot a hole in the floor by Loco's toes.
The dude cowboy didn't move a bit,
So he fired some more, til one nearly hit.
Then Loco drew
an' a hail of lead
Kept a-comin' at Bill, right by his head!
When the bullets stopped and the smoke simmered down,
Not a word could be heard all over the town.
Badlands Bill
didn't itch no more,
Cause he turned an' he ran right outta the door!
When he jumped in the saddle an' was in the road,
Bad Luck pitched an' Bill was throwed.
Well the horse
found quick that the act wadn't wise,
Cause Bill put a hole into each of his eyes.
An' then he saw blood all over his shirt,
It'as the first he'd knowed that he'd been hurt.
It seems that
the guns of Loco Gene
Had done their job real swuft an' clean,
For they cut the lobes right off of each ear;
An' when he looked down...; He was made a steer!
Well Loco left
and wadn't seen again,
But Badlands' fate will make you grin.
In a year or so, as the story goes,
Bill got a job an' some fancy clothes.
He was seen at
the bar of the ol' sa-loon,
Just a-dancin' an' a-prancin', an' a singin' a tune.
It was plain to see that he wadn't very mean,
Cause 'is tight-fittin' dress made him look like a queen.
Well, the
moral to the story? It ain't been wrote.
But you might oughtta heed this little bitty note:
If you gotta scratch a itch in town,
Wear bulletproof shorts or keep your sidearms down...
Okay?
|
