banditos

An everyday story of goodies and baddies.

Smoke on the horizon; riders on the hill;
there’s too many men for you and me to kill;
we followed them for days till we reached the Rio Grande;
sure they’d no idea of the ambush we had planned, we had planned.
We met up with DaSilva in a town across the line;
easy money was his aim, just as it was mine;
he had his brothers with him; we were a fearful sight;
just the sort of men you’d want when it came down to a fight, to a fight.

“Give up, banditos” we called as we drew near,
“just put your hands up in the air and you’ll have nothing to fear.”
”Give up banditos” became our battle cry,
but we had no doubt these men were going to die, going to die.

But the bandits chose to fight us and paid a heavy price;
their bodies scattered where they fell; their widows filled the night
with tears and solemn promises to even out the score;
they sent word to the south to the man they call Senor, called Senor.
He gathered up an army of disenchanted men
and headed north in search of us; their hearts set on revenge,
but as they rode along the trail our spies had done us proud;
we pinned them down with rifle fire and sent the message loud, message loud.

“Give up, banditos” we called as they drew near,
“just put your hands up in the air and you’ll have nothing to fear.”
”Give up banditos” became our battle cry,
but we had no doubt these men were going to die, going to die.

The leader, he was proud and brave, his army fought us well,
but all of us knew from the start their trek would end in Hell;
in half an hour we’d got their mounts and cut off their retreat;
it was just a matter of time till they’d admit defeat, admit defeat.
They couldn’t run; they couldn’t hide; couldn’t hope to win;
their only chance of deliverance lay on the desert wind;
within the hour, their bullets gone and half his soldiers dead,
their leader begged for mercy; this is what I said, what I said.

“Give up, banditos” we called as death drew near,
“just put your hands up in the air and you’ll have nothing to fear.”
”Give up banditos” became our battle cry,
but we had no doubt these men were going to die, going to die.

(©2003 Stewart Bowman)