A Quick Death In Texas

My nasty Yankee mannerisms
Didn't jive with the local traditions
How was I to know she had a jealous husband?
He was the GM of a Tractor Supply
Well acquainted with the guns and knives
Sometimes I swear I have less sense than a bag of hammers.

I prayed for courage
I prayed for love
I prayed for guidance from the heavens above
I prayed to know divine protections
But now I'm praying for a quick death in Texas.

Please forgive me, Mr. Gibbons
I crawled my way into the Doom Saloon
In an attempt to cauterize my wounds
I did a terrible job and they became powerfully infected
I found myself atop a stolen roan
Quite convinced I would never see home
And all account of my lack of common manners.

The saloon doors stopped swinging
The piano player stopped playing
In the shadows I could hear
Archaic Spanish phrases
The preacher stood up from his table
In his right hand he held a bible
And in his left, the business end
Of a Winchester rifle.

Beaumont, Amarillo, got a line on me
Galveston, El Paso, Nacogdoches, Abilene.