[TECH TASK: American-Mexican outlaw country, raspy mature male vocal, acoustic guitar, acoustic instruments, mood of mild annoyance and anger, tempo moderate, emphasize storytelling, keep verses and chorus distinct] [Intro] [Slow strum of acoustic guitar sets the dusty trail,] [Light percussion tapping like hooves on a wooden floor.] [Verse 1] The sundown got wasted by a one-eyed, pretty night, Rabbit stew still whispers from my old tin pot tonight. But comfort ain’t my partner — I got business down the line, So I sling my shotgun over and hit that trail in the pines. Gonna wander through the marshes, check the gold I buried deep, Let my soul warm on the starlight, where the night-watch spirits creep. And I reckon I should tidy up the marshal’s lonesome grave — Springtime he near scared me breathless with a warning shot he gave. [Chorus] Got trouble with these boots, they've worn clean through since spring, If they’d handed me their boots, Lord, I’d have let ’em be. All the gold I got can’t buy me peace or a place to hide — Just a drifter in a cave, with wailing boots at my side. [Verse 2] Boars and coyotes stir in the reeds so thick and tall, A lone owl sings its mournful tune, then falls silent at my call. It knows one day I’ll shoot it, that feathered puta, I ain’t in a rush, For now he keeps me company, better than the killing quiet. Counted moons above, I’ve lost track long ago, Bet it all on a black hand, the cards of life I throw. Cursed by every soul and cursing every soul in turn, And I don’t know the road back home, or if I’ll ever own. [Chorus] Got trouble with these boots, they've worn clean through since spring, If they’d handed me their boots, Lord, I’d have let ’em be. All the gold I got can’t buy me peace or a place to hide — Just a drifter in a cave, with wailing boots at my side. [Verse 3] Money’s here, but in my forest cave, it don’t do me no good, Hope fades fast I’ll wait this lawman’s chase like I should. Stagecoach heists, horse thievin’, twenty-two kills they’ll remember, Thirty miles south lies a town with a saloon, a whorehouse, and a hanging timber. I’ll sit a while, puff my smoke, and sip some homemade shine, Might glance at the river, where the prospectors often whine. If one of ’em shows up in big boots, well, I got two rounds more, Ready to bargain in lead, though I’d rather not raise the score. [Chorus] But I got trouble with these boots, they've worn clean through since spring, If they’d handed me their boots, Lord, I’d have let ’em be. All the gold I got can’t buy me peace or a place to hide — Just a drifter in a cave, with wailing boots at my side. [Outro] [Guitar fading with soft, dusty chords,] [Echo of the wind through the pines and marshes, lonely as the outlaw’s soul.]
