Monday, 7 January 2013

A western tale.

Them good ole boys rode into town

with the dust of the plains on their boots,

tied up their hosses out-a-side the saloon

and lit up a Mexican cheroot.


Cross the street, the undertaker sized them boys up

a-calacate-in the price o’ lumber.

The Minister said “Bless you boys”

But fear turned him to a mumbler.


Years past, prairie winds blew

Tumbleweed rolled along merry

Nothing in this town ever grew

‘cept new earth in the cemetery.


This town’s been the preserve of the Liles gang

always was as always will be,

till them good ole boys fix this ole town

and hire six more consultants for the infirmary.


Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)

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