(DON'T MAKE ME DO) WHAT I DID DOWN IN TEXAS

(c) 2005 - G. Smith


I rode into town from out on the prairie,
The day was so hot, the sun was still high;
I tied up my horse, and walked into the barroom,
And ordered a beer, being dusty and dry.

The folks in this town took advantage of strangers,
Making off with my horse while I slaked my thirst.
When I paid for my drink, and then found my horse missing,
I stepped back inside and prepared for the worst.

My spurs, they still jingled as I reached for my pistols,
And I drew with a flourish, both ready to fire;
I said, "I'll ask once - What's become of my pony?"
And nobody challenged this tired cowboy's ire.

The room remained quiet so I pulled back the hammers,
And lowered a barrel to the barkeeper's head;
Without even blinking, I spoke in a whisper,
And everyone there heard the words that I said:

"Don't make me do what I did down in Texas;
It's a mem'ry that keeps me from sleeping at night.
Don't make me do what I did down in Texas;
I don't want to recall the results of that fight.

No, don't make me do what I did down in Texas;
The people down there never saw such a sight...
Don't make me do what I did down in Texas;
Just bring back my horse and make things all right."

They set down a tall one on the counter before me,
And I heard my horse being tied up back outside.
I finished my drink, and took the barkeep out with me,
Surveying the scene as I prepared to ride.

"What did you do to those folks down in Texas?"
The barkeeper asked me, fin'ly able to talk.
I pulled back the reins and holstered my pistols,
Looked him straight in the eyes, and said, "Pardner...
I walked..."