The Wild and Woolly West
You call us wild—just tell me why;
’Cause we look sort of rough?
You’ll find the boys in this here camp
A good long ways from tough.
We got no use for lawyers;
Judge Lynch we all respect,
But no one needs to fear the Judge
If he carries hisself correct.
There was that man Tim Haskins—
Tim you know’s a scamp—
Well, he took us for tenderfoots
And tried to run the camp.
Joe Grant took objections, then
’Fore anyone could tell,
Haskins knifed him through the heart
And struck him again as he fell.
That set our blood to biling;
We were sore as we could be.
We dragged Tim to yon canon
And strung him to a tree.
You’ll see him as you’re passing;
He’s near the road down there—
Unless he’s served as dinner
For wolves or grizzly bear.
Now, back East this ain’t justice,
But as like as like can be,
If Tim had got a court trial
The jury would have set him free.
We don’t want no law like that,
So when a man’s a pest
We hook him to the nearest tree,
In the wild and woolly West.