Dust on my saddle, mud on my boots.
A coupla empty saddle bags
except for two old suits.
I'm tired and I'm hungry,
worried as can be.
Last night I saw a poster a
nd they're still after me.
They claim we were in Clinton
last year in the month of June.
They said on the night of the 17th in Katy's old saloon.
A man was shot in cold blood
in a friendly poker game.
I don't know how it happened
but somehow I got the blame.

Well I've worked up in the gold mines
and I've logged up in the hills.
Come Spring I'd drive the herds up,
come Fall I'd work the mills.
Well I've done most ev'ry kind
of work from letter A to Z.
I guess I'll be a-ridin' now
the past is chasing me.

Six years now since that fateful day
my ridin' days have ceased.
I'm hidin' out in Kansas now,
they think I am a priest.
I'm carryin' a Bible instead of a .45.
Rememberin' that poster sayin' "Dead or Alive."

The Sunday sermon's over,
I look out towards the bar.
Several men are comin',
one has on a star.
Well I guess this time they caught me,
runnin' ain't no use.
This robe will never stop them,
they think they know the truth.

But now the star is speaking,
he says that I am free.
These years I spent a-runnin',
they didn't have to be.
Well they caught their man
six years ago right after I left town.
My ridin' days are over now and I can settle down.

Dust on my saddle, mud on my boots.
A coupla empty saddle bags
except for two old suits.
I'm tired and I'm hungry,
lonely as can be.
I'm bound for Carolina, and my family!