Fields of golden kernels, blessed sun, and prosperous soil

Poetic Cowboy was a son of a gun, took breakfast with his rye

Tall Dynamite was a scrapper that lived go-heeled, no stranger to hard times.

A wild west town that struck it rich, ground was filled with black coal oil

Mined for black gold all day long, then painted his nose till sunrise.

Rooked alongside the bunko steerer, made riches, enough for a few lifetimes.

Some have hopes and dreams but then again sometimes it rains...

In the hole with three card monte, the bottle was taking it’s toll...

Beds are made, it’s time to lie, the Boone Brothers Gang was closing in...

So who’s gonna bring the sun? Who’s gonna halt the rain?

Dearest darlings depend on elders, lovers, best friends

Soiled by avarice. This cowboy was cadaverous.

The one who answers the call - heroes have many names.

But Hawkeye knew a heart of hurt was descendin’

Loaded to the gunwhales, he met with the savages.