live-at-the-old-quarter-houston-texas

living on the road my friend
was gonna keep you free and clean.
now you wear your skin like iron
and your breath’s as hard as kerosene.
you weren’t your mama’s only boy,
but her favorite one it seems.
she began to cry when you said goodbye.
sank into your dreams.

pancho was a bandit boys.
horse was fast as polished steel.
wore his gun outside his pants
for all the honest world to feel.
but pancho met his match you know
on the deserts down in mexico.
and no one heard his dying words,
but that’s the way it goes.

and all the federales say
they coulda had him any day.
they only let him hang around
out of kindness, i suppose.