On the plains of the Buffalo Madam will take it slow Your gambling days are gone You poor misguided soul At the last ditch you will weep For the shadows in the garbage heap Like a pig roasting on a spit Your poor misguided soul If the horse's mouth could speak His days would turn to weeks You'd be bored with all that you know You poor misguided soul When the cactus makes your bed You'll stay awake instead By the bones in the old campfire Your poor misguided soul Your one dollar up in heaven Is worth five more in hell And your friends, they will not miss you Your poor misguided soul
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