Way out in Wyoming Way,
We spot a cowboy this very day.
Of course, this is not now, or anywhere near,
It is way back in a nineteenth century year.
Tumble weeds are rolling quickly along,
Blown by winds’ whistly song.
Our cowboy’s name was Leroy Gritty,
And he lived not far from Deadwood City.
Some folk thought he looked like Wyatt Earp,
But, in truth, he was only a little twerp.
He packed a couple of six guns,
And worked on a ranch where the Red River runs.
He’d smoke foul smelling black cheroots,
And wear high-heeled cowboy boots.
He was often found in smokey saloons,
Playing poker with other baboons.
Leroy drew his gun very fast,
And loved to hear gun noise blast.
We’ve heard of that “Gunfight at O.K. Corral”,
Which for a villain, was not good for moral,
Well Leroy had gun-fights many a time,
It could be over something trivial as a dime.
They would leave the saloon and go out on the street,
Each determined the other to beat.
Leroy was always the first to shoot,
Drilling a hole in the other galoot.
One day alone in the town of Tombstone,
He faced up to an enemy and away he was blown.
He lay in the dust, profusely bleeding,
Medical attention he was certainly needing.
But the undertaker ran up with his tape measure,
Saying that it gave him no great pleasure,
But business was really slow,
So looking for business he had to go,
“What’s bad for you is good for me”,
And measured him up with considerable glee.
“Don’t worry about it, you won’t be alone!”
“The cemetery is crowded in Tombstone”.
The moral of this cowboy tale,
Is don’t get in a fight and rant and rail.
Back right down and move along,
Save yourself from a funeral song!