By: Stan Rodgers

	Harris, my old friend, good to see your face again
	More welcome, though, yon trap and that old mare
	For the wife is in a swoon, and I am all alone
	Harris, fetch thy mare and take us home

	The wife and I came out for a quiet glass of stout
	And a word or two with neighbors in the room
	But young Clary, he came in, as drunk and wild as sin
	And swore the wife would leave the place with him

	But the wife as quick as thought said, "No, I'll bloody not"
	Then struck the brute a blow about the head
	He raised his ugly paw, and he lashed her on the jaw
	And she fell onto the floor like she were dead

	Now Harris, well you know, I've never struck an angry blow
	Nor would I keep a friend who raised his hand
	I was a conscie in the war, cryin' what the hell's this for?
	But I had to see his blood to be a man

	I grabbed him by his coat, spun him 'round and took his throat
	And beat his head upon the parlor door
	He dragged out an awful knife, and he roared "I'll have your life"
	And he stuck me and I fell onto the floor

	Now blood I was from neck to thigh, bloody murder in his eye
	As he shouted out "I'll finish you for sure"
	But as the knife came down, I lashed out from the ground
	And the knife was in his breast and he rolled o'er

	Now with the wife as cold as clay I carried her away
	No hand was raised to help us through the door
	And I've brought her half a mile, but I've had to rest a while
	And none of them I'll call a friend no more

	For when the knife came down, I was helpless on the ground
	No neighbor stayed his hand, I was alone
	By God, I was a man, but now I cannot stand
	Please, Harris, fetch thy mare, take us home

	Oh, Harris, fetch thy mare, and take us out of here
	In my nine and fifty years I've never known
	That to call myself a man, for my loved one I must stand
	Now Harris, fetch thy mare take us home