Those desperadoes, whooping and a-hollering,
riding bareback down the mean streets of Crumlin.
Tying up their horses outside the Village Inn saloon
as they mosey on over to Borza’s corral.
And after chasing the Drimnagh posse back over the badlands
they rest their horses on the communal green
and let them graze as they dream
of being the last gunslinger in town,
facing down the bandit pistoleros from Dolphins Barn:
this is their patch, their Law to lay down.
These boys becoming men;
start out on the outlaw trail
end up as drug mules, dead,
or banged up in jail.