(Paul Siebel)

Those other years, the dusty years

We drove the big hers through

I tried to forget the miles we rode

And Spanish Johnny too

He'd sit beside a water ditch when all this herd was in

And he'd never harm a child but sing to his mandolin



The old talk, the old ways, and the dealin' of our game

But Spanish Johnny never spoke, but sing a song of Spain

And his talk with men was vicious talk

When he was drunk on gin

Ah, but those were golden things he said to his mandolin



We had to stand, we tried to judge, we had to stop him then

For the hand so gentle to a child had killed so many men

He died a hard death long ago before the road come in

And the night before he swung he sung to his mandolin



Well, we carried him out in the mornin' sun

A man that done no good

And we lowered him down in the cold clay

Stuck in a cross of wood

And a letter we wrote to his kinfolk

To tell them where he'd been

And we shipped it out to Mexico, along with his mandolin