When we drove the big hearse through
I tried to forget the miles we rode
He'd sit beside a water ditch
And the dealin' of our games
Spanish Johnny seldom spoke
And his talk with men was vicious talk
But those were golden things he said
We had to stand, we had to judge
See those hands so gentle to a child
He died a hard death long ago
And the night before he swung
We carried him out in the
Laid him down in a cold, cold clay
And a letter we wrote to his kinfolks
To tell'em where he'd been
We shipped it on down to Mexico
