Now me and the boys were in Clancy’s Saloon, and hoistin’ our mugs in a toast,
When Old Man McGee bursts in through the door, lookin’ as pale as a ghost.
"I pity you, son," he stammered at last. "I reckon you best get yourself hid."
"There’s a feller in town who’s a lookin’ for you, by the name of the Prickly Kid."
My skin went clammy, my hands took to shakin’, the beer went sour in my mouth,
For there weren’t a more fearsome critter alive, from the North clean to the South.
They say when he hunts you, there’s nowhere to run, and you might as well number your days,
Because no man alive’s been known to survive the Kid’s cold, unblinking gaze.
Then the customers scattered, the piano stopped playin’, and slowly I turned around,
At the end of the bar stood the Prickly Kid, never making a move nor sound.
He fixed me right there with a steely stare, and "hewwo" was all he said.
And I took one look in those beady cute eyes, and I plumb keeled over dead.
Now, the moral of my story’s a warning to you, and I’m sure Sarah R. would agree,
When your time is over, there’s naught you can do, and there’s no sense in trying to flee.
So stay right here and finish your beer, for you won’t be escaping the joint.
When the Prickly Kid comes a-lookin’ for you, you’re definitely getting the point.