(Difford/Tilbrook)
ThereЎЇs smoke in the hills
And prints on the path
The moon dangles down on the hyenaЎЇs laugh
And there are riders with guns by their sides
The wagon trainЎЇs full of women and hides
The men drink and smoke to help pass the time
Men have their thoughts and plans to decide
And the dust brings the thirst to the mouths open wide
The wagon train leaves the hills
As the gold hits the fever
The wagon train tips the scales
Wagon train you can keep her
ThereЎЇs gold in them hills
ItЎЇs treasure to claim
A ghost in the hillside calls out my name
In the wind a roar as the tumbleweed tumbles
The rocks cast a shadow where the horses have stumbled
And we light up a flame as the sky above rumbles
Like the bellies that feast on a meal that is humble
And the rain slashing down as I shave off my stubble
