|
Living on the road my friend, |
|
Is gonna keep you free and clean. |
|
Now you wear your skin like iron, |
|
And your breath 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, |
|
And sank into your dreams. |
|
Pancho was a bandit boys, |
|
His horse was fast as polished steel, |
|
He wore his gun outside his pants, |
|
For all the honest world to feel. |
|
Pancho met his match you know |
|
On the deserts down in Mexico, |
|
And nobody heard his dying words. |
|
Ah, but that's the way it goes. |
|
And all the Federales say, |
|
They could have had him any day. |
|
They only let him hang around, |
|
Out of kindness, I suppose. |
|
Lefty, he can't sing the blues |
|
All night long like he used to. |
|
The dust that Pancho bit down south |
|
Ended up in Lefty's mouth. |
|
The day they laid poor Pancho low, |
|
Lefty split for Ohio |
|
Where he got the bread to go, |
|
There ain't nobody knows. |
|
And all the Federales say, |
|
They could have had him any day. |
|
They only let him slip away, |
|
Out of kindness, I suppose. |
|
Well the poets tell how Pancho fell, |
|
And Lefty's living in a cheap hotel. |
|
The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold, |
|
And so the story ends we're told. |
|
Pancho needs your prayers it's true, |
|
But save a few for Lefty too. |
|
He just did what he had to do, |
|
And now he's growing old. |
|
And a few grey Federales say |
|
They could have had him any day. |
|
They only let go so wrong, |
|
Out of kindness, I suppose. |
|
A few gray Federales say |
|
They could have had him any day. |
|
They only let him so wrong, |
|
Out of kindness, I suppose. |
