On the plains of the Buffalo, Madam will take it slow
Your gambling days are gone, you poor misguided soul
At the last ditch you will weep
for the shadows in the garbage heap
Like a pig roasting on a spit, your poor misguided soul

If the horse's mouth could speak
his days would turn to weeks
You'd be bored with all that you know
you poor misguided soul
When the cactus makes your bed
you'll stay awake instead
By the bones in the old campfire
your poor misguided soul

Your one dollar up in heaven is worth five more in hell
And your friends, they will not miss you
your poor misguided soul