Another tale of syphilis, clap, gum-sores, spittin’, cursing, cigar-chewin’, well-aimed bullets, dust, saddle sores, grits, and a hearty plate of beans, to help the wind blow the sage-brush on its way.
On with the tale…
WELCOME, AMIGOS…KEEP ON RIDING INTO HELL…
The Cowboy was a Greek, who cares the creed, the breed unknown,
When a man casts his seed, the ground is unsown.
His gun was huge and so was his nose,
Where he decided to crap, so then grew a rose.
His seed was pure gold, a tale often told;
when miners were dirty, and whores were aged 30,
and aged before they’d even been rolled.
He was mean, do you know what I mean, a dirty turd of a guy;
and if you crossed him, he’d fix you - plumb centre - right in the friggin’ eye.
He roamed the land, his dream unfulfilled,
to add notches for all the dirty scoundrels, that he had so coldly killed.
Buffalo turds happened, and he was always there,
forever the silent footstep, treading stealthily up the stair.
We begin to wonder where this man would have been,
if he were not so goddamn dark, slick, handsome, brown-eyed, and mean.
A tough hombre we cannot doubt,
despite his background,
and his twelve-inch ginormous snout.
Truth be told, this man did not rest in peace until his spirit said “Oh, Spit!”
“I’m dead, I’m gone…oh, suck on my hide, and taste my leather whip”.
So he went for the whore, the cheapest, in store, and enjoyed it while it did last.
She tasted good, as any woman should, and the price - he never asked.
Here lies a man, a mean 'un to the end, and a man forever alone;
poor sad soul, for all his many sins committed,
never more to ultimately atone.
“Aw, nuts, and bugger”. I’m sure, he would have said,
If his last Will and Testament, was not propping up the out-house shed…
Here lies a man, a man all alone…