The river is lined with sagebrush that easily hides
hundred men or more,
hungry for my blood
the money it’ll bring.
But not a drop of it shed is mine,
the red clay drinks their worthless share
I draw their blood first
a battle I didn’t begin.
The game goes on,
expanses as broad as the back of God
boom towns crowded with whores
queened for the night I share their beds,
‘em and leave ‘em,
up with my men before
coming of the dawn or
coming of the law.
