The Man Who Kept the Law
The wind came out from the west each dayIn this dry and dusty land,
It blew hot and heavy,
All choked upon the course sand.
Amidst the churning, swirling dusters
Stood a tall and raw-boned man.
He stood 6 foot 3, with sun-parched face,
And a six-shooter close at hand,
He made a commanding firgure,
This picture of a man.
Protecting the small businesses,
In this old-west town.
As they lined each side of the street,
Wooden-built, ram-schackled, and run-down.
Here the old-west law was kept,
By a man with a noble cause.
Many a gun-slinging cowboy who came to town.
Gave staying a second pause.
He was not famous, he was not rich,
He was not even poor.
He was just a man you met ,
When you entered the local saloon door.
The Law was strict, the Law was fair,
The Law was simply kept.
And , if, any man challenged it,
His widow surely wept.
For such was the only way
An old-west town stayed safe for all.
When the man with the star on his chest,
Poliitely came to call.
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