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From Rotgut To Hell

Bart Coleman is my name.
Five Card Stud is my game.
I had ridden into Rotgut two days before.
It is a small dusty rundown nowhere town.
I spent most of my time there in Salty Sam’s Saloon.
I had taken the local yokels for a tidy little sum.
Then, to my shock and chagrin,
Zack Waverly walked into Salty Sam’s.
I had taken most of his dough down in Abilene
three months or so before I wandered into Rotgut.
Zack spotted me, called me a dirty rat,
drew his fancy Colt pistol and shot me in my chest.
I didn’t even have time to draw a breath
and I was stone cold dead before my body
hit the the creaky wooden saloon floor.
The sheriff had a couple of drunken prisoners
bury my body in a shallow grave up on Boothill.
In a flim flam flash my eternal soul was in the pit of Hell.
I would have cried, but a soul cannot shed tears,
when I was informed by that old serpent Beelzebub himself
that there is absolutely no gambling allowed in Hades.
Now I truly understand why the netherworld is called Hell.

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