Jack The Drifter

Jack was just a drifter Though many called him a grifter, As he rode from town to town Seeing what was lost, that could be found. Jack was always a boaster With his gun already in his holster, No one was ever faster He always replied with laughter. As he roamed the lonely Wild West On his own spiritual journey and quest, Always looking for an adventure and a fight Because, he knew that he was always right. He was the fastest with his 45 None of his opposition is still alive, And whenever he put up fists to brawl He would fight and beat them one and all. Jack was just a drifter Everyone called him either sir or mister, With a cockiness he always did strut He was killed with a pitchfork to his gut. Randy L. McClave