“Ride, Jesse, Ride”

[Intro — filthy low guitar riff; slide guitar rising over pounding drums] [Verse 1] Dust boiled up on the Missouri line, Jesse rode in with the sun in his eyes. Hitched up his horse by the general store, Saw his own face nailed up on the door. Some called him a devil, some called him their own; He bought him a bottle and drank it alone. Folded that poster and slipped it inside— Something to laugh at a few miles behind. [Pre-Chorus] You could hear those spurs from the back of the room; Nobody asked where he’d ride to next. [Chorus] Ride, Jesse, ride—let the black dirt fly! Keep that horse between you and the morning light. Gold in the saddle, blood on your sleeve, Another town burning with a reason to leave. Ride, Jesse, ride—hear the hounds outside! How much road can a wanted man buy? [Verse 2] Steam whistle screamed through the cut in the hill, Boots hit the carriage and the wheels stood still. A guard gripped his rifle; a woman bent low, Pulled her little boy where the gunfire wouldn’t go. They cracked that safe with a charge and a curse, Rode off heavy while the wounded got worse. By Sunday the story had travelled around— They’d made him a hero in the very next town. [Pre-Chorus] They passed round his name with the bottle that night; Nobody spoke of the blood left behind. [Chorus] Ride, Jesse, ride—let the black dirt fly! Keep that horse between you and the morning light. Gold in the saddle, blood on your sleeve, Another town burning with a reason to leave. Ride, Jesse, ride—hear the hounds outside! How much road can a wanted man buy? [Guitar Solo — raw slide guitar into a blazing twin-guitar lead] [Bridge — half-time stomp; low, close vocal] You can count every rider that comes down the lane, Know every sheriff and reckon the range. But a friend at your table can look you straight through, Pour you a drink like he’s always been true. Leave your gun belt hung over a chair— All of that running won’t help you in there. [Final Chorus — full band; vocal pushed hard] Ride, Jesse, ride—let the black dirt fly! Keep that horse between you and the morning light. Gold in the saddle, blood on your sleeve, Another town burning with a reason to leave. Ride, Jesse, ride—hear the hounds outside! How much road can a wanted man buy? [Outro — guitars fall away to a slow, dirty riff] They’ll sing you clean in a crowded bar, Leave out the wound and remember the scar. Raise up a glass when they get to your name— The dead stay dead, but the songs remain. [Quiet, rough vocal] Ride, Jesse… Ride. [Final low guitar chord; let the amp hum linger]