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.