A man appeared before wells fargo
Wells Fargo stage driven man
Wearing a long white linen

And a dust flour sack over his head

Pointed a double barrel shotgun

At the driver forced him to halt
Please throw down your boxes Sir
And madam please I don't need your money or pearls


They call him Black Bart P.O.eight
The highway poetry man

Leaving his poem dissapeared like a ghost on his own
All on his own on the road he owns


Rise Black Bart I'm calling
calling your spirit out
Dust off your hat and hatchet

There are boxes out there with your name and mark

The road has been cold and lonely

The road has been out of good tales
Let's shake up some dust we'll be opening the box like before
Just like before and leave a poem


For honor and for riches
I've labored long and hard for the bread

But on my corns too long you tread
You fine haired sons of (*##$es


A man appeared before wells fargo
Wells Fargo stage driven man
Wearing a long white linen

And a dust flour sack over his head

They call him Black Bart P.O.eight

The highway poetry man
Leaving his poem dissapeared like a ghost on his own
All on his own on the road he owns


For honor and for riches
I've labored long and hard for the bread

But on my corns too long you tread
You fine haired sons of (*##$es