Stanley was a drifter back in '53
Never had a bed where he could sleep
He ate his meals from the garbage can
Just walked around without a real plan
Found his way to the Texas line,
Stumbled into our town a quarter past nine
Had a few drinks at a roadside bar
And that's where our story really starts
It was there in the barlight, in a corner booth
Tumbleweed blowing in the wind
Carried him somewhere he never should have been
Was it fate or just circumstance
Makes you wonder if he ever had a chance
Well across from the First State Band the next day at four
Feds caught up with them outside of Larado
In an ambush of bullets and a cloud of gun smoke
They killed an innocent man on that day
But now that poor drifter has a bed where he can lay