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David McElhinny



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David McElhinny

The Miner

The Miner
by David McElhinny



1. Alone on the plains, during some real tough days
The widow and her son were trying to make their way.
When them bandits showed up, they terrorized those two
Took all their money, their cattle, and their food.

As they rode off, the boy screamed in a voice like thunder
You'll be sorry come sunset cause you'll all be six feet under.
The Miner will come, you just wait and see,
Fore morning comes you'll wish you listened to me.

He's tall in the saddle, and he has red eyes,
Rides a black stallion that's 20 hands high.
Shoots golden bullets out of his pistols from hell,
The stink of brimstone is all you'll smell.

You'll be punished for all the things you stole,
The Miner will see that you pay with your souls.
Get your affairs in order and get ready for a fight,
Cause a reckoning is coming and it's coming tonight.

Chorus
Now the Miner weren't nothing but a campfire tale
Told by men who had too much ale.
Once a lonely miner slain for his gold
Now he righted wrong is how the story was told.


2. Now these young thieves had each lived an unruly life,
Mean as rattlesnakes, they caused misery and strife.
But that very evening, with the moon out of sight,
The Miner found their camp, it wasn't much of a fight.

He appeared all in black through the midnight plume,
And each and every man knew he would seal their doom.
They emptied their guns into his body and head,
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But the Miner stood tall, never winced or bled.

He laughed with fury, sending a chill up their spines
His sinister cackle telling them they'd run out of time.
The Miner drew and fired, cutting those men to shreds
Then he vanished before the last was dead.

Now each bandit was rich, with carcasses full of gold,
Lot of good it did em' cause now they were cold.
Vultures descended on them, like angry bats from hell,
Picked their bones clean, cept for them golden shells.

Chorus
Now the Miner weren't nothing but a campfire tale
Told by men who had too much ale.
Once a lonely miner slain for his gold
Now her righted wrong is how the story was told.


3. That next morning, when the widow got out of bed
Battered and bruised, is how the story was said.
Moved slow across the room, her wounds still raw,
Looked out the window, couldn't believe what she saw,

In the corale, all their cattle was back,
Plus six new horses, with saddles and tack.
Her son ran outside, was a hell of a sight,
that boy knew the Miner would make things right

On the fence post hung a satchel, full of gold,
Enough to sustain them until they was old.
A note written in blood, on the side of that sack,
It read, live right, do good, or I'll be back.

You won't see tomorrow if the Miner appears,
He is the sum of all your worst fears.
If you do wrong, you'll meet him, guaranteed,
In the frontier, he is the only law you need