The Ballad of Dusty and Steadson
Do you like a good Western? If so, you are going to love these lyrics. Written in the form of a ballad you will be transported back to the wild, wild west. You will ride the western plains on horseback. Drink your fill of whiskey at a cowboy's tavern. And yes, witness a gun fight. Just a few of the things you will be exposed too. Enjoy!
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Verse 1. Dusty and Steadson are riding the plains, clapping the spurs to their horses.
Steadson is the wild one. Dusty, he's the drinker. Twin brothers homespun West Texas.
The sun is as hot as a three-dollar pistol, makes them both sober and sour.
Sucking up dry dirt, sifting through sand, thinner than virgin white flour.
"Black bourbon whisky, cornhusks for the horses lay yonder dear brother I see,
town of El Paso, rose-water wasteland, smelling as sweet as can be."
Verse 2. A two-dollar bill stables both horses. A price brother Dusty thinks steep.
But, Steadson is stomping, chomping at the bit. He's raring to go and won't keep.
The tavern is filled with roughnecks and rowdies, palmers of poker and hate.
Willing to die with the wink of an eye if honor were ever at stake.
The fiddle is bowing, the barmaids are throwing themselves at what cowboys will pay.
Steadson he took one, man-handled and shook one. So, politely she spat in his face.
Verse 3. Faster than a raindrop melts on a hot rock, her body falls dead to the floor.
As big as all-get-out is the shoot out that broke out. "Make haste brother, head for the door!"
The sheriff is a stonewall who stands about yay tall. He borders their line of retreat.
Backed up by a sworn-in, cold-cocks and sandbags them. "Fun's over look-alikes. Accept your defeat."
Outside their jail cell, persistent as all-hell, the tinhorns are taking on wagers.
Death by a hung neck is a two-to-one sure bet. Blue ribbon if too hang their horses.
Verse 4. In the interest of justice, the court asks each witness to I.D. the doer-of-deed.
Was it Dusty?
Was it Steadson?
Which is Dusty?
Which is Steadson?
Both acquitted 'cause no one agreed.
The ruling is shocking. A protester is cocking his rifle and levels his aim.
But, the bailiff is quicker at pulling the trigger. Adorning the walls with his brains.
Dusty and Steadson free as two birds. Their feathers born tethered together.
Riding the plains low saddle, loose reins, clapping the spurs to their horses.
© Melanie Thompson 2023
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