Atkin-James
I never will remember how that stranger came to town
He walked in without a swagger, got a job and settled down
The place would have seemed the same without him
And now I can't recall a thing about him
He didn't wear a poncho or a gun with a filed sight
And he wasn't pa**ing through like a freight-train in the night
He rarely wore a stetson with a shadowy big brim
And I still can't be sure if he was him
From Kansas to Wyoming, from Contention to Cheyenne
His name meant less than nothing and it didn't scare a man
So folks didn't worship him or fear him
And I can't remember ever going near him
He didn't tote a shotgun with the barrels both sawn off
So people didn't hit the deck or dive behind a trough
He walked the street in silence ignored on every side
And it's doubtful if he could even ride
I never could remember how that stranger met his d**h
He was absolutely senile, and with his dying breath
He forgot to ask his womenfolk to kiss him
And afterwards they didn't even miss him