A Quick Death in Texas

My nasty Yankee mannerisms Didn't jive with the local traditions

How was I to know she had a jealous husband?

He was the GM of a Tractor Supply Well acquainted with the guns and knives Sometimes I swear I have less sense than a bag of hammers

I prayed for courage I prayed for love

I prayed for guidance from the heavens above

I prayed to know divine protections

But now I'm praying for a quick death in Texas

Please forgive me, Mr. Gibbons

I crawled my way into The Doom Saloon

In an attempt to cauterize my wounds

I did a terrible job and they became powerfully infected

I found myself atop a stolen roan

Quite convinced that I would never see home

And all on account of my lack of common manners

The saloon doors stopped swinging

The piano player stopped playing

In the shadows I could hear Archaic Spanish phrases

The preacher stood up from his table In his right hand he held a bible

And in his left, the business end Of a Winchester rifle

Beaumont, Amarillo, got a line on me Galveston, El Paso, Nacogdoches, Abilene