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In the sizzling sun, Miss Beulah took a run in her wedding shoes.
Her groom, Walter, waggled at the alter, propped up by booze.
When the preacher couldn't reach'er, Walter fell flat on his head. 
In rough disarray, so still he lay, folks all reckoned him dead.
 
Miss Beulah, of Missoula, hopped a southbound train to Santa Fe.
With dashing bravado, a lean desperado jumped aboard that day,
So debonair, gun waving in air, the bandit stroked Beulah’s hair.
"Oh Sir," Beulah cried. "Your flashing eyes, tell me you care."

The outlaw spoke, "I’m a lucky bloke," and caught Beulah's arm.
"Never fear, you clever dear, do as I say, I mean you no harm.
In fact, to be exact, I'll marry you, you’ve dressed the part.
Your golden curls and sassy pearls have stolen my heart."

In church back home, a doctor set the tone, stethoscope in hand,
Examined the groom, then gave him room, and bade him to stand.
"Stay cool, don't be a fool, follow your bride, son, drag her back."
Crushed daises led down through the empty town to the railroad track.

With strapped-on gun, and Stetson donned, he traced rails southwest.
Ignoring the danger, in growing anger the groom pursued his quest,
To swallow his pride, go find his bride and take her home to bliss.
Yet Walter didn’t sense, in self defense, Miss Beulah had gone amiss.

Overtaking the train and hardened to pain, the posse leapt aboard.
Pale as the moon, the jilted groom realized the bandit had scored.
Oh, cruel fate, he’d arrived too late, his intended had wed another.
"Meet your doom, girl, you may assume; you will go no further."

‘Ere man drew gun, he plugged her one and shot the bandit down.
Blood from her chest, gushed out to rest on her glossy, satin gown.
Now Walter grieves, as he receives a reward for killing the man,
Beulah, poor lass, left her wedding repast before the fun began
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