From the album LIFE AFTER SUNDOWN
Art by: Juha Vuorma
Directed by: Laume Conroy
-----------------------------------------------
I was sittin in The Thirsty Devil
one sheet hung to the wind
when the bat wings doors creaked open
and a stranger sauntered in
he moved his head from side to side
and glared with a sunken eye
I heard the spin of a rusty spur
as he shook off the dreary night
he lowered his hat, checked his gun
and headed toward the bar
walked on up beside me
I knew he’d traveled far
in a voice as thick as mud
he looked to the ’keep and said...
“one shot of whiskey for myself
and one for my new friend“
the patrons whispered hushed and low
they seemed to be afraid
as if a ghost had stood right up
and walked out of its grave
his face was shallow and dirty
his skin like leather hide
sure he spoke like any man
but something wasn’t right
so I twisted on my stool
turned to him and said
“thank you sir, but just the same,
I’m chasin worms instead“
he growled and shoved the drink my way
his eyes cold as death
“I pick the drinks, you knock ’em back
else draw against my hand“
chorus:
when it’s six to midnight
and the boney hand of death is nigh
you better drink your drink and shut your mouth
if you draw against his hand, you can never win
go ahead... drink with the living dead
“who the hell do you think you are?“
my patience growin thin
but swallow hard, I had to do,
when the story he began
his lips curled back and words came forth
starting up the tale
and every face inside that bar
turned a shade of pale
“my name is Stanton Cree
and I died three years before
I shot a man to steal his drink
at least that’s what they hung me for
now I’m cursed to walk the earth
and challenge every night
a man to match me drink for drink
or by the bullet die“
“now wait a minute, mister,
no one makes me a fool“
I pushed the shot of whiskey
back on over towards the ghoul
“I love a drink like any man
but that’s a losin game
to drink or draw against the dead
would only be insane“
Stanton Cree tipped his hat
and laughed a wicked laugh
“you see, the lord cursed my soul
for killin that poor man
there ain’t no choice so you must try
to match me shot for shot
if you win, then you’ll go free
and I can finally rot“
the barhop nodded slowly
and I knew that I was screwed
if I chose to duel the dead
then I would surely lose
so I took the glass
and threw the shot into my throat
I would match him drink for drink
no matter if I choked
whiskey, tequila, vodka, rum or gin
ain’t no man that I can’t beat
be him live or dead
so into the morning
I matched him ounce for ounce
til Stanton Cree fell over
and a winner was announced
now he rests in his pine box
and I still walk the streets
but I don’t forget the night
when death had chosen me
there ain’t no fancy moral
to go with this I fear
unless you aim to kill a man
and drink down his last beer!
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