Well,he road into town about a quarter to nine,
he had dust on his clothes and hate in his mind
His guns were hot and his brain was fried.
He'd kill that man if he found him inside.
The man that left him to die.
The horse he was riding, was one he had found,
after walking 20 miles in the hot desert ground
The sun had dried up his open wound.
The sky was now lit by the moon,
as he walked towards the saloon
Well, the doors swung open and he walked on in
he had the eyes of a devil and a scar on his chin.
Everyone knew there was death in the air,
as Pedro rose up from his chair,
his eyes were filled with fear.
Well, he shook and he trembled and he started to run,
but in a split seconds time Frank had emptied his gun.
All that remained on the barroom floor,
was one dead rat, not to steal no more,
as Frank walked out the door.
The streets were a filled with wondering minds,
would they see justice or another crime.
The light shinned down on Frank's face of stone,
They knew that he'd be going home,
back where he belonged.
So on the next day a wagon rode out of town
to the hill where Pedro would be laid in the ground.
He wanted all to here, so the Preacher had yelled!
"Steal not your fortune in another man's wealth,
It might be bad for your health."
Stay thirsty my friends Wizzzmo