Back in time long ago under the open sky
Where men roamed the west and weren’t afraid to die.
It was blood and bullets washed down with booze
In the boom-towns, folks had it all to lose.
Justice from a gun was the only way
As vultures circled overhead day after day.
And the price of life was a dead mans cost
Two bits for a soul and a wooden cross.
Slinging six guns and frontier law
Black powder smoke and the quickest draw.
Hell bent for glory in the devils flame
Wanted posters and gold strike fame.
It was a high noon sun when they came to town
Spreading their lead with a six-gun sound.
The outlaws burned their fury with every shot
Setting fire to the gallows and the hangman’s knot.
The women cried out and the town it bled
The dusty street turned to crimson red.
And when the smoke cleared death took the meek
History was written down in Blood Creek.
Those days are long gone but without end
As the ghosts forever ride the Copper Wind.