Ballad Of A Lonesome Drifter Lyrics by Charley Crockett
He doesn’t say too much
And his throat is dry.
What he wants
Is a bottle of rye.
Born just to play
A bad luck hand.
This here’s the tale
Of a taxicab
As the night rolls in
And the sun goes down
He’ll find himself
In a different town
All the good time women
Prophets, drunks and thieves
We’ll soon find out
What the texican means
Mexican boots
And a stetson hat
But it slung low
With the trigger tied back
These are the marks
Of a fat man
A kind they call
The texican
Jingling spurs
On a hardwood court
A poker game
Just made for poker.
But if you sit in
For a card or two
You’ll wind up dead
Before you brew
Border wind, border wind, where do you go?
Cover my trail tonight.