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By townes van zandt |
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Living on the road my friend, |
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Is gonna keep you free and clean |
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Now you wear your skin like iron, |
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Your breath as hard as kerosene. |
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You weren't your mama's only boy, |
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But her favorite one it seems |
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She began to cry when you said goodbye, |
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And sank into your dreams. |
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Pancho was a bandit boy, |
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His horse was fast as polished steel |
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He wore his gun outside his pants |
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For all the honest world to feel. |
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Pancho met his match you know |
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On the deserts down in mexico |
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Nobody heard his dying words, |
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Ah but that's the way it goes. |
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All the federales say |
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They could have had him any day |
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They only let him slip away |
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Out of kindness, i suppose. |
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Lefty, he can't sing the blues |
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All night long like he used to. |
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The dust that pancho bit down south |
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Ended up in lefty's mouth |
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The day they laid poor pancho low, |
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Lefty split for ohio |
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Where he got the bread to go, |
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There ain't nobody knows |
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The poets tell how pancho fell, |
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And lefty's living in cheap hotels |
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The desert's quiet, cleveland's cold, |
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And so the story ends we're told |
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Pancho needs your prayers it's true, |
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But save a few for lefty too |
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He only did what he had to do, |
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And now he's growing old |
