(Difford/Tilbrook)  

  

There's smoke in the hills  

And prints on the path  

The moon dangles down on the hyena's laugh  

And there are riders with guns by their sides  

The wagon train's full of women and hides  

The men drink and smoke to help pass the time  

Men have their thoughts and plans to decide  

And the dust brings the thirst to the mouths open wide  

The wagon train leaves the hills  

As the gold hits the fever  

The wagon train tips the scales  

Wagon train you can keep her  



There's gold in them hills  

It's treasure to claim  

A ghost in the hillside calls out my name  

In the wind a roar as the tumbleweed tumbles  

The rocks cast a shadow where the horses have stumbled  

And we light up a flame as the sky above rumbles  

Like the bellies that feast on a meal that is humble  

And the rain slashing down as I shave off my stubble  



There's arrows that fly  

As guns start to shoot  

There's mud in your eye and stones in your boot  

With wagons on fire and women left screaming  

Some left for dead and others left bleeding  

There's nothing left now and nothing worth keeping  

The treasure was trapped and sprung when in sleeping  

Not even the wind from the rocks is left breathing