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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required [Just a little note to help maintain the peace on Soup. To cause no animosity among our friendly group I myself am partial to some tasty asian food I hope you’ll see my tale as fun and not just think me rude And also for the rest of it, I trust you won’t expect That anything that follows is historically correct!] *** Those cowboys used to ride their horses under desert sun Each of them had practised hard to be the fastest gun They’d eat their beans and chew tabaccy till the day was done When, ’round the fire they would sit and fart and spit for fun But horses they need tending so one man would stay awake To give them food and water so those horses did not bake And when a horse dumped on his boots he said for goodness sake I say my prayers, ain’t shot no-one, so, Lord, give me a break That night the lightning lit the desert, thunder rolled on high The only other sound around, a lone coyote cry One cowboy wearing mucky boots observed that odd green sky And when the rest awoke a hundred years had passed them by John the Wain woke up again and couldn’t hear his steed Who always neighed and whinnied when he had his morning feed But Red who'd watched the horses and who’s beard now reached his knees Said while you kipped much time has slipped, your horses now are these A dozen motor scooters stood with no horse there beside em Decrepit Red so nearly dead had books on how to ride em He said I’ve aged these hundred years but somehow you defied em I found no helmets anywhere no law has yet required em Wain looked at Red and then he said that means my girl is dead The last time that I saw her she was snuggled in my bed If I could I swear I would take measures to be better If it meant that I could ride her... ... round on my Lambretta He whistled up his cowboy clan, who gathered toting shooters He told them all to learn to ride on these weird looking scooters Pretty soon they’re whizzing round like half demented looters Shooting bullets in the air and sounding off their hooters But soon they saw that something more was playing on his mind He said he cannot rest until they find who they must find We came to catch the injun in a hundred years gone by It makes me sigh to think that I didn’t watch him die Well Red had one last breath to take before he lay on down I heard that there be Indians in that there yonder town Wain buried Red and then he led his men off on a sortie Something that he should have done way back in eighteen forty Twelve Lambrettas lined the street they entered through the door Good evening Gents, the owner said what can I do you for Wain said speak of Geronimo, I need to know the score The owner said Geronimo don’t come round here no more We’re not that kind of Indian but we have heard his story We understand he didn’t go out in a blaze of glory They locked him up for quite a while and then they let him go And that’s the last thing anyone heard of Geronimo So tell me is there something else that I can do for you I’ll get the chef to serve you up a tasty vindaloo With pilau rice, chapati and perhaps some sag aloo And maybe I’ll throw in for you a poppadom or two Wain, a little side-tracked huffed, I hope he got a fine Shoot him, jail him, string him up: that decision was mine ’twas no-ones jurisdiction to let that man go but me The chef came out and asked him, would you like mango chutney? And so they ate, the spices had them huffing and a puffing But for a hundred years they’d slept and they had eaten nothing Although the food was very hot it did taste rather yummy But they were used to bland and tasteless baked beans in their tummy They couldn't know Geronimo had lived and wasn't gone The ambush he had set up or the steed he sat upon So Wain and all his gang they mounted up and scootered on And each Apache started up his Harley Davidson They rode toward the sunset and those scooters they were flying But it was not the scooters that were noisily back-firing They leapt off by some bushes and as one they started crying I feel like I’ve been gut-shot and I think I may be dying So Geronimo and all his braves just sat with engines running Their plan was good although it looked like no cowboys were coming And so there was no fighting on that day there in the pass For John the Wain and all his gang were squatting on the grass
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