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Twelve Colic Choked Hoodlums
Twelve colic choked hoodlums
Lyin’
around in the grass
They’re
hangin’ ‘round
They’re
drunk on their ass
Twelve colic choked hoodlums
Lyin’
around in the grass
They’re
going to Medford
After bad times have passed
The
constables are gone
They’ll
never come back
They all left
With their lives in a sack
The
constables are gone
They’ll
never come back
They all went to Medford
On
the Northern Train track
A
gang of old trappers
They’ll
trade them for trinkets
Under a blue prairie sky
A
gang of old trappers
They’ll
trade them for gold
To
anyone who will buy
©12/1/08Terry
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Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
