Classic Poem

It was meetin' night in Rawhide Town,
And the congregation was settlin' down
To hear the sermon of Parson Brown,
When hell broke loose again.
Next door in Hank's Café Paree,
The boss was off on his weekly spree,
And settin' 'em up to the cowmen free
From a barrel of nigger gin.

The parson strained his lungs to shout,
But Hank's rejoicin' drowned him out,
The devil was winnin' without a doubt
And heaven's hopes looked slim.
The parson paused, then shouted, “Men,
The time's at last appointed when
We'll beard the devil in his den,
And have it out with him.”

Out of the church with his little flock,
The parson paraded down the block,
Lifted the latch without a knock,
And entered the hall of sin.
The music ended, the laughter died,
Tongues went speechless and eyes grew wide,
As the parson calmly stepped inside,
And the others followed in.

For an instant no one dared to speak,
Even the parson's knees were weak.
He'd forgot the vengeance he'd planned to wreak,
And Hank looked on with a frown.
But Hank was not so easily downed,
He grabbed a glass and held his ground
And ordered the boys to drink a round
To the parson of Rawhide Town.

“It's the bottoms up!” the barkeeper cried,
“We'll drink to hell where we'll all be fried,
Where we'll cast our souls that are crimson-dyed,
In the tears our women shed.”
The toast was drunk, then Hank stepped up,
Offered the parson a brimmin' cup,
And said, “Drink up, you prayin' pup,
And trot on home to bed.”

Hank laughed when suddenly out on the floor,
A stranger stepped with a forty-four—
And Hank was looking into the bore,
And wond'ring what to do.
The stranger was lean and hard and small,
And he spoke words with a lazy drawl,
He said, “Now, boys, now listen all,
And I'll have a word with you.

“I ain't the kind to be buttin' in,
And I'll prob'ly never be here again,
But, boys, I'm mad—I'm mad as sin,
And I'm going to have my say.
Take my advice and don't get rough.
I'm called the Raven, and boys, I'm tough.
If you think I ain't, jes' call my bluff,
Now, pray, you buzzards, pray.”

Down in the dirt on the rum-soaked floor,
The cowmen knelt till their knees were sore.
And they prayed as they'd never prayed before,
To save their souls from hell.
And when the parson said amen,
They followed him out of the devil's den,
And they swore they'd be different men,
But they crossed their fingers well.

The Raven and Hank were left alone,
And the Raven spoke in a gentle tone.
He said, “I'm sorry you pulled that bone,
For your technique sure is bad!
My sole intentions in comin' here
Was merely to buy a round of beer,
And lift your roll, but now I fear
I've run things in a ditch.

“So open your poke and spill the dough,
And I'm beggin' your pardon as I go
That I had to spoil your little show,
'Cause our ideas didn't hitch.”

Hank looked twice at the forty-four
And decided he'd better act before
His guest became a trifle sore,
So he shoved the roll across the floor.
The Raven bid him a soft good night,
Lifted his gun and blinked the light,
Slammed the door and was off in flight,
Ridin' the parson's horse.