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Boomer Johnson Oh, Mister Boomer Johnson was agettin' old in spots But you don't expect a bad man to go 'rasslin' pans and pots. He'd done his share of killin', but his draw was gettin' slow So he quits apunchin' cattle and he takes to punchin' dough. Our foreman up an hires him thinkin' age had rode him tame But a snake don't get no sweeter by the changin' of his name. Boomer knew his business, he could cook to make you smile But say, he wrangled fodder in a most peculiar style. He didn't use no matches, left 'em layin' on the shelf Just some kerosene and cussin', and the kindlin' lit itself Pardner, I will tell you, it would give a man a jolt Just to see him stir frijoles with the barrel of his Colt. He built his doughnuts solid, and it sure would curl your hair Just to see him plug the holes when he tossed them in the air, He drilled the holes plumb center every time his pistol spoke, 'Til the can was full of doughnuts and the shack was full of smoke. We was all a-gettin'jumpy but he couldn't understand How his shootin'made us nervous when his shootin' was so grand. He kept right on performin'and it weren't no surprise When he took to markin' tombstones on the covers of his pies. They didn't look no better nor they didn't taste no worse But settin' at the table was Iike ridin' in a hearse. We didn't do no talkin' and we took just what we got We et 'til we was foundered just to keep from gettin' shot. It was early one bright mornin', I was feelin' kinda low When Boomer passed the doughnuts, I answered, "Plenty, no Coffee's all this trip I'm takin','cause my stomach is a wreck." You could see the lust for killin' swell the wattles of his neck. Scorn his grub! He strung some doughnuts on the barrel of his gun He shoved it in my gizzard and he says, "You're takin' some." He was set to start a graveyard but for once he was mistook Me not wantin' any doughnuts, well I up and salts the cook. Did they fire him? Listen, pardner, there was nothin' left to fire Just a row of smilin' faces and another cook to hire, If he found another outfit and is cookin', what I mean, It's where they don't need matches and they don't use kerosene. From Harmonious Companions, Myers Transcribed from singing of Margaret McArthur RG
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!