Cowboys in the Badlands
Out West, across the great divide
great open spaces oceans wide
Beauty in these badlands does hide
everything fights us as we ride
Last stop, was exciting wild Abilene
shot an hombre that was very mean
Watched him bleed as he slowly died
his gal held him and loudly she cried
Before, she had sworn love to me
next his dying love she swore to be
Riding away fast, ahead of the Law
looking back, cloud of dust we saw
My partner lit out on me last night
cried this was surely not his fight
He turned back east galloping so fast
we had our time, had a damn blast
Ahead the badlands beckon me on
this cowboy life sets me all alone
Hot as hell the water miles ahead
A night's rest to clear my head
Morning sun woke me to its heat
no bread, bacon and eggs to eat
My water is in very short supply
always fleeing, I ponder just why
No time to enjoy such pretty views
my path ahead my life must choose
Avoiding Indians and the chasing men
forever alone with never a friend
This beauty now I can slow to see
posse has surely given up on me
Coyotes call , rattlesnakes do hiss
comfort of town I do sorely miss
Found now, a trail to old Mexico
across the Rio Grande I now go
Far behind, hot hell races after me
dancing with pretty senoritas I'll soon be!
Armadilly Billy the Sling Shot Kidster was steadily on the move.
He was leaving the Southwest and his reputation behind, for sure!
Every gunslinger was out for him and of killing he’d become tired.
Even the weather was being surly, as a dust storm was blowing wild.
Traveling way too long, he came across a town he’d never seen before.
The sign said ‘Welcome to RotGut, Rest Here, We’re a friendly town.’
Shelter he was a seeking, in that town of RotGut, only one night, to tell.
His horse enclosed in the livery, he entered the saloon, out of the wind.
The piano was a playing, a lively tune as he, slowly opened up the door.
Everyone stilled, as him they did peruse, as he wandered up to the bar.
The ruckus resumed quickly, as he stated that he was, just a passing thru.
The whiskey tasted mighty sweet, a smell of it lingered in the air, too.
The girls were friendly, so he bought one some, as a patron eyed him on.
A deck of cards flashed in the gamblers hands, as a six-gun laid beside.
The gambler waved him over saying, it’s been kind of dead here, of late.
Surprisingly, no one seemed to know him, no one trying to make a name.
Relieved no one would have to die that night, he joined the poker game.
The night became finally peaceful, as he was welcomed into the game.
Around 2 in the morning, the whiskey and trek was taking its toll, a shame.
He climbed the stairs to his room, lulled asleep by the sounds downstairs.
Morning dawned bright and early, with the dust storm long gone away.
And the room looked, Oh So Different, within the new light of the day.
Curtains faded and shredded, limp with dust, a room full of decay…
Abandoned eons ago... The banisters in the hallway were broken apart.
The saloon downstairs was disheveled, with barely anything left in tact.
Only the table in the corner, seemed to have withstood the test of time.
And sitting right there, at that corner table, a deck of old cards remained.
Not a speck of dust was upon them, as he tipped his hat, a final goodbye.
Then he moseyed out to the livery, which was in equally bad disarray.
No one had been here, in neigh on forever, was all that he could tell.
A dried up old western town, with tumbleweed blowing everywhere around.
Still he left a tip for the care of his horse, for he wouldn’t be unkind, of course.
He left the town of RotGut, a lonely and eerie oasis, in the bright light of day.
At the edge of town he tipped his hat, to RotGut, for the kindness… displayed.
Unlikely the explorers of the Wild West,
I'm bound for sheer adventure, not amazing discovery;
finding gold is far from any quest
while this clanking, slow-moving stream locomotive
will take me to places so primitive...
even a small ghost town has tales that conjure mystery!
Whistle along train as your steam puffs...
reaching clouds and turning them into raindrops,
California is still a seeker's dream for the unhappy folks living
in bustling cities enduring noise and pollution;
soundless are the canyons drifting
by without any fearless cowboy riding,
but the watchful coyotes will resent this intrusion...
whenever your whistle startles them when they are napping!
Whistle along train as your steam puffs,
I didn't bring along a single book to read not to be distracted by reality,
only a huge map showing me historic towns...
where daily shootings were as common as drinking whiskey!
Imagine seeing the ghosts of Billy the Kid and Jesse James
roam the dusty streets ready to start a gunfight;
see crowds gather and wait for the winner to shout...
it's like watching a Clint Eastwood's western movie drawing his guns!