(Original by Townes Van Zandt)
|
|
Livin' on the road, my friend
|
Was gonna keep you free and clean
|
But now you wear your skin like iron
|
And your breath as hard as kerosene
|
You weren't your mama's only boy
|
But her favorite one, it seems
|
She began to cry when you said goodbye
|
And sank into your dreams
|
Pancho was a bandit, boys
|
His horse as fast as polished steel
|
He wore his gun outside his pants
|
For all the honest world to feel
|
Pancho met his match, you know
|
On the deserts down in Mexico
|
No one heard his dyin' words
|
Ah, but that's the way it goes
|
All the federales say
|
They could have had him any day
|
They only let him slip away
|
Out of kindness, I suppose
|
Lefty he can't sing the blues
|
All night long like he used to
|
The dust that Pancho bit down south
|
Ended up in Lefty's mouth
|
The day they laid poor Pancho low
|
Lefty split for Ohio
|
Where he got the bread to go
|
There ain't nobody 'knows
|
All the federales say
|
They could have had him any day
|
We only let him slip away
|
Out of kindness, I suppose
|
The poets tell how Pancho fell
|
And Lefty's livin' in a cheap hotel
|
The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold
|
And so the story ends, we're told
|
Pancho needs your prayers, it's true
|
But save a few for Lefty, too
|
He only did what he had to do
|
And now he's growin' old
|
All the federales say
|
We could have had him any day
|
They only let him go so long
|
Out of kindness, I suppose
|
A few old gray federales still say
|
We could have had him any day
|
We only let him go so long
|
Out of kindness, I suppose
|
|
-----------------
|
Pancho & Lefty
|
| Counting Crows |
