(Paul Siebel)



Those other years, the dusty years we drove the big herse through

I tried to forget the miles we rode and Spanish Johnny too

He'd sit beside a water ditch when all this herd was in

And he'd never harm a child but sing to his mandolin.



The old talk, the old ways, and the dealin' of our game

But Spanish Johnny never spoke, but sing a song of Spain

And his talk with men was vicious talk when he was drunk on gin

Ah, but those were golden things he said to his mandolin.



We had to stand, we tried to judge, we had to stop him then

For the hand so gentle to a child had killed so many men

He died a hard death long ago before the road come in

And the night before he swung he sung to his mandolin.



Well, we carried him out in the mornin' sun, a man that done no good

And we lowered him down in the cold clay, stuck in a cross of wood

And a letter we wrote to his kinfolk to tell them where he'd been

And we shipped it out to Mexico, along with his mandolin...