The Hit

A white man, in a white suit, on a white horse rides into town, he rides off that dusty ol' trail

He rides into town, not just any town. I'm talking d-e-a-d-e-n-d

With integrity and his heart on his sleeve

He hopes they are going to buy what he believes

Every fool and every fiend

That's a population of one hundred and three

A cure to their unchristian-like ways

With a simple process of "drawing out", through one hole in the top of the skull

Then a snip, a cut and a couple of knots tied off

He offers to make them as good as new

"Better than you're used to"

Sadly, the locals don't take kindly to this well intentioned man

They don't want a hand out from him

Instead they take offense to a man coming into their town looking to tell right from wrong

That's when the situation goes from bad to worse

As they string him up at the town hall

It appears our smart-ass should have kept along that dusty, lonely trail

They tell him "the hands are the eyelids of the soul."