Marblehead Bill
Marblehead Bill was too proud to cry.
He was too wild to tame, and too mean to die.
He'd spread his bed beneath the sky,
In any kind of weather.
Marblehead Bill, hardheaded as sin,
Would beggar the odds when he couldn't win.
One day he challenged iron fisted Ben,
And they stepped outside together.
Marblehead Bill, poor son-of-a-gun,
Unable to win, and too stubborn to run.
All that was left when it was done
Was a scrap of rawhide leather.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005
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