George Flatt was a lawman in Kansas,
who also co-owned a saloon.
They said he had grit,
was as tough as they get,
and his six-gun could carry a tune.
On July the seventh,
in eighteen-seventy-and-nine,
Jake Adams and George Wood
were up to no good,
just drinkin' and shootin'
and thinkin' it's fine.
Now Constable Kelly and Deputy Wilson
with Flatt and Kiser by their side,
came in for a gander
and up went their dander
as bullets whizzed by close and wide.
Wilson was wrist-shot,
and Kiser was head-shot.
Thank God it was only a graze.
And Flatt killed both outlaws:
Adams and Wood.
I think he just earned him a raise.
Flatt became marshall and upheld the peace,
but he had him a habit to drink.
Bending the elbow
and tipping the mug
can be just as bad as the opium drug;
just try them and then try to think.
Well, Flatt had a few,
and then a few too many;
some might say he was "dead drunk."
But he got up and staggered
and tried to get home,
too wasted to smell a near skunk
He was shot from behind,
it severed his spine
right at the base of his skull.
Two men were suspected,
Horseman and Hunt,
but the Hangman never would pull.
They say justice failed
'cause neither suspect was jailed.
But I say, if you think they got away
think again.
'Cause ol' Frank and Bill
are roasting in hell,
since crime unrepented is sin.
No comments:
Post a Comment