When a man grows old and his balls
grow cold, So find me a seat and stand me a drink
And the end of his knob turns blue; And a tale to you I'll tell
When it's bent in the middle like a Of Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete
one-string fiddle, And the gentle Eskimo Nell.
He can tell a tale or two.
When Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete
Go out in search of fun, And when Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete
It's usually Dick who wields the prick Are sore, depressed, and mad,
And Mexican Pete the gun. 'Tis the cunt that bears the brunt
So the shooting ain't so bad.
There was rarely a day without a lay
And usually two or three Now Dead-eye Dick and Mexican Pete
For Dead-eye Dick, his kingly prick Had been hunting in Deadman's creek.
Was always like a tree. And they'd had no luck in the way of
Just a moose or two and a caribou, For nigh on half a week.
And a bison cow or so;
And for Dead-eye Dick with his kingly prick
This fucking was mighty slow.
- -- The Ballad of Eskimo Nell