Life on the Trail
Hi, my name is Tom Morgan
A cowboy of note
With my old battered hat
And my weather-beaten long coat
I have ridden the range
For almost fifty years
A life full of laughter
Along with some tears
With two trusty colt forty-fives
That hangs down by my side
And they have come in pretty handy
As I have ridden far and wide
My fellow cowboys and me
Have traveled many a mile
Throughout our lifetimes
With good cheer and a smile
Trail herding steers
A few thousand head at a time
Over thousands of miles
In the dust and the grime
Sleeping out under the Moon and the Stars
My faithful horse Old Blackie and me
Covered up in my blanket against the wind and the rain
And with Steers as far as the eye could see
Always on the lookout against rustlers and the like
Waking up with a stiff back and a fart
Looking forward to reaching the end of the drive
Heading straight for a bath and fun with a bawdy house tart
Though life was hard in the saddle
My backside sore day by day
Many an adventure was had
In a sad kind of way
Rounding up strays, that had a mind of their own
Or fighting off Indians gone bad
All of that hard tack, bacon and beans did us no good at all
And the loneliness at night rather sad
But I had always wanted to be a cowboy
Since I was a child
Ran away from home at fourteen
I was restless and wild
Got into a gunfight at the age of eighteen
With an outlaw named Bad Jack Mc'Graw
But my hands were faster as I went for my guns
I beat him hands down to the draw
You never forget the first time you kill another man
No matter how bad he might be
As the bullets quickly ripped into his chest, body oozing life
All I could think of was stopping him killing me
Though it was a fair gunfight
He had drawn down on me first
From that sad afternoon
I was forever cursed
As being the man who had killed Bad Jack Mc'Graw
Now known as the fastest gun alive
I disappeared into the shadows settling for life on the range
So as to have a better chance to survive
Because there’s always someone faster, quicker on the draw
Your life can be cut very short have no fear
And I wanted to live more than anything else at eighteen
Not killed by someone’s six-guns you might hear
So I took up a cowboy’s life, found me a reliable horse
That’s how me and Old Blackie got acquainted you see
Now we have been together for many a year
Against the world just him and me
Now we ride the range, inseparable, always together
Against the elements we struggle, the heat and the rain
But though our life is hard and full of excitement and danger
We live it daily, again and again
Pony Express
My name is Richard Egan
I’m eighteen years of age
if I was in a comic book
I would leap out from the page.
My adventures would enthral you
keep you on your toes
what you would make of me
Dear God only knows.
The date is January 27th in the 1860th year
the advert wanted men
who said they knew no fear
Pony Express riders, anyone could apply
being young and daring
I thought I’d give it a try
The job was to deliver mail
between Missouri and California
to arrive in ten days time
rough riding through the vast terrain
I would need to be in my prime.
With my trusty army colt revolvers
hanging by my side
with a sheath knife just for back up
I’d cross the great divide.
A trusty steed was needed
who could run and run all day
strong in heart and sound of limb
he’d be there come what may.
With Wild Bill Hickock and Buffalo Bill
I had some famous friends
they went on to fame and fortune
that where the story ends.
Stabbed twice and shot four times
left to die on two occasions
but made it through along with the mail
to me they were just abrasions.
Me, I rode for a number of years
fighting Indians the elements and the pain
risking life and limb
with very little gain.
Except my special self respect
for doing something well
because when the mail was delivered
the townsfolk thought it swell.
I was one of the lucky ones
lived beyond my teens
now an old man of many years
have lived to tell the tale it seems.
Chawathka
The Indian brave rides all alone
Beneath the mountains made of stone
Under the clouds that go sailing by
With heavy heart and occasional tear he will cry
Lost many tribesmen during the Indian wars
Though white men he killed by the scores
A war of hate from both sides
That’s why a lonely path he now rides
A fearless warrior, a commanding chief
Who had to lead his people through all the grief
See women and children killed at will
Many terrible sights he see’s still
Now he wanders in his buckskin clothes day and night
With his feather in his hair an awesome sight
With his trusted pony his only friend
He will now roam until his end
Chawathka, a last remnant of the Great Plains war
Now he rides and thinks what was it all for
Was it worth all the sacrifice
His people paid a terrible price
As they fought for freedom from the whites
But he still has nightmares during his lonely nights
And he will wander until his dying day
Under the Sun and Moon, riding every which way
The Last Gunfight
My name is Wild Bill
a gunfighter at will
I live by the gun
friends, family I have none
Kill or be killed I may
is the order of the day
two guns in my belt, one each side
butt ends pointing out quite wide
In Dodge City I am the law
the fastest guns you ever saw
live by my wits and slight of hand
to stay alive in this fair land
Today an outlaw has come to town
swearing loudly he’s going to gun me down
so at noon out on the street
is when he wants us both to meet
Its eleven o’clock, so off I stride
my two trusty pistol’s safely at my side
to Sara Jane’s parlour to partake
some coffee and a slice of cake
Enjoy my repast until I am ready
and make sure my hands are steady
one minute to twelve so out I go
into the street no crowd in tow
Walk out into the Sun to meet my foes
Texas Jack as his name goes
has two compadres at his side
walk towards them, no place to hide
Twenty yards apart we stop and stare
three against one, not very fair
they make their move so I draw my gun
in seconds, three dead men lay in the Sun
As I walk away the undertaker Joe Luck
moves towards me saying that’s a buck
to bury them up in boot hill
buried deep so quiet, so still
The Stage arrives I climb inside
now I just need to ride
Deadwood my next destination you see
unknown to me, oblivion is my destiny
Abilene
She is a dance hall singer in old Abilene
The toughest town the west’s ever seen
With a body for breakfast every day of the week
Where even the sheriff is rarely found
Those that were are now underground
Boot Hill in littered with the flotsam of the west
Whose tales of daring are exaggerated at best
But Belle was the star of the Old Pokey Saloon
Where life began at midnight and ran until noon
Wild Bill Hickock a frequent guest
Tried his luck at the tables two guns in his vest
Many a time he had to draw fast
More than his cards or his life wouldn’t last
But Belle was above this her voice like a dream
To many a cowboy an Angel it would seem
So long in the saddle riding the range as they may
To the cowboys she was such a relief at the end of the day
Many man tried to molest her it seems
But in reality she was just part of their every day dreams
Because she was in love with the sheriff, Luke Longhorn, her beau
It was he she returned to after each show
As time went by they married had kids galore
But most of the others became memories of western folklore
Belle
She is a dance hall singer in old Abilene
The toughest town the west’s ever seen
With a body for breakfast every day of the week
Where even the sheriff is rarely found
Those that were are now underground
Boot Hill in littered with the flotsam of the west
Whose tales of daring are exaggerated at best
But Belle was the star of the Old Pokey Saloon
Where life began at midnight and ran until noon
Wild Bill Hickock a frequent guest
Tried his luck at the tables two guns in his vest
Many a time he had to draw fast
More than his cards or his life wouldn’t last
But Belle was above this her voice like a dream
To many a cowboy an Angel it would seem
So long in the saddle riding the range as they may
To the cowboys she was such a relief at the end of the day
Many man tried to molest her it seems
But in reality she was just part of their every day dreams
Because she was in love with the sheriff, Luke Longhorn, her beau
It was he she returned to after each show
As time went by they married had kids galore
But most of the others became memories of western folklore
Johnny Rhondo
The fastest gun alive am I
never intend to quit or die
I’ve killed men for fun and fame
to me it’s just an exciting game.
Two forty-fives one on each side
hang on my hips, make sure they slide
from there holsters, real quick but straight
if I draw slow it will be to late.
When bullets fly and hit there mark
death arrives, your world is dark
never intend that it should be me
so a killer I will always be.
But luck runs out sometimes its true
someone is faster, more daring than you
if I meet my match my maker will
bury me deep up on Boot Hill
I walk a path that will always mean
Friends are never what they seem
always aware of the price on my head
and a lot of people wish me dead.
It’s a lonely life that’s for sure
sometimes I wish for something more
but realize that can never be
to kill is the only way to be free.
Pinkerton men are on my trail
I ride for miles through snow and hail
reach Abilene a frontier town
no doubt someone will try to gun me down.
Hitch my horse outside the store
bullets needed, must get more
as I walk across the street
theirs is no sound, that kinda neat.
In a moment more I will know why
as the bullets begin to fly
Pinkerton's have lain in wait
now I know my final fate.
As I draw and fire my gun
bullets hit me one by one
slump to my knees down in the street
my chest hurts now I see the blood secrete.
In the dirt my life fuel drains
I feel further darting pains
as more bullets hit the mark
things cloud over, it becomes dark.
My spirit rises and looks down
at the figure on the ground
I realize it must be me
my dead body I can see.
The end comes to us all in time
but mine came whilst I was in my prime
at thirty one, just for the papers page
Johnny Rondo died in a rage.
Twenty or more years ago
that scene happened I can’t let go
if you visit Abilene
a ghostly figure can be seen.
In the street just walking tall
six guns quiet they’ve done it all
a whispering figure who can it be
don’t worry folks its only me.