"Ballad Of A Lonesome Drifter" lyrics

He doesn't say too much, and his throat is dry
What he wants is a bottle of rye
Born just to play a bad luck hand
This here's the tale of a Texican

As the night rolls in and the sun goes down
He'll find himself in a different town
All the good-time women, prophets, drunks, and thieves
Will soon find out what the Texican means

Mexican boots and a Stetson hat
Gun is slung low with the trigger tied back
These are the marks of a batten man
The kind they call the Texican

Jingle and spurs on a hardwood floor
A poker game just made for four
But if you sit in for a card or two
You'll wind up dead before you're through

Border wind
Border wind
Where do you go?
Cover my trail tonight