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