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‘Twas a hot day in Texas, ‘bout ninety degrees,

when I first saw the infamous Blackjack McGee.

Now Jack was a grisly old son-of-a-bitch,

was blind in the right eye, the left had a twitch.

His heart and his conscience was black as the night,

he was mean as a dog always spoiling to fight.



A scar on his forehead ran down to his chin,

while a thick matted beard hid a sinister grin.

Been nearly a month since the man had seen soap,

so dirt hid the marks where he cheated the rope.

The six-gun he carried, slung low on his hip,

and long bladed knife, wasn’t far from his grip.



‘Twas just around dusk, in the middle of June,

when I parted the doors of the longhorn saloon.

I paused for a bit so my eyes could adjust,

then asked for a whisky to wash down the dust.

Been thinking ‘bout this for a year and a day,

a bottle of hooch..... and a dancer named Mae.



It’s been quite a while since Mae said good-bye,

then blew me a kiss with a tear in her eye.

She strolled off the stage, as she finished her act,

and whispered she loved me, (you know that’s a fact).

So now I’ve returned, to enjoy her true love,

in a room where she works, a mere one floor above.



A fancy pants guy with a French sounding name,

had started a high ante stud poker game.

He lured several rubes to his table of chance,

and picked their deep pockets with hardly a glance.

I’d thought about asking to join in the fun,

but a shifty eyed cowpoke sat fingering his gun.



The bartender Jake, kept my little glass filled,

with drink after drink of his finest distilled,

and a young boy named Billy, he tickled the keys,

of an upright piano, while girls danced and teased.

They flounced to the can-can, in wanton display,

but one gal was missing..... a dancer named Mae.



I watched the festivities, mopping my brow,

those legs raised so high I was wondering how.

The petticoats flew while the boys shouted cheers,

and ogled their charms ‘midst the whistles and leers,

and tho’ I was watching those frilled derrieres,

I couldn’t help keeping one eye on the stairs.



I figured she must have gone up to  her room,

applying some powder or dabbing perfume,

or changing to something all silky and lace,

getting all gussied up, then painting her face.

I’ve waited so long, what’s a few minutes more,

I’ll soon spend the night with the gal I adore.



I’d spent a long time, wrangling steers on the trail,

asleep ‘neath the stars, ‘midst the wolf’s lonely wail,

with the smell of the cattle and stench of my boots,

dang sick of those cowboy yells, hollers and hoots.

I dreamed of those ladies that strut and sashay,

especially that one gal..... a dancer named Mae.



My daydream was broke with the slam of a door,

and whoop of delight, that was hard to ignore,

a sinister laughter, that filled the whole room,

an ominous bellow, forecaster of doom.

Descending the stairs with a stomp on each tread,

were the feet of a man, I’d soon come to dread.



‘Twas the first I’d laid eyes on old Blackjack McGee,

no meaner man living, I’m sure you’ll agree.

As he buckled his belt, with a lecherous grin,

there’s no doubt about it, you knew where he’d been.

I’m sure I looked startled, a bit taken back,

and wondered which gal had endured grisly Jack.



I barely had time, to take in what I saw,

when a starry-eyed gal appeared, love-struck, in awe.

She looked quite disheveled, her makeup askew,

then kissed old Jack’s cheek, in plain public view.

She winked at him lewdly, a look quite risque,

and I knew in an flash..... ‘twas a dancer named Mae.



I spoke pretty harshly, I have to admit,

and surely my language was fairly unfit,

but the anger I felt caused my finger to twitch,

as hatred built up toward that son-of-a-bitch.

I uttered an oath that could curl a dog’s hair,

as my eyes locked his, in a smoldering stare.



The saloon, it went quiet, not a single word said,

the barkeep stopped serving, the piano went dead.

The dancing girls paused with their legs in mid air,

and one gambler knelt in a quivering prayer.

The only sound heard was the tick of a clock,

and the evident click of a gun hammer’s cock.



My mind wandered back as I thought of my Ma,

my sister in Dallas, and long buried Pa,

my brother, in prison for robbing a bank,

a man I once shot in a gunfight, named Frank,

but mostly my thoughts were of right here today,

a gal who stood speechless..... a dancer named Mae.



The rest of the evening is pure Texas lore,

the Sheriff kicked in the saloons swinging door,

The bartender Jake went quick for his gun,

as Billy reached ’neath the piano for one.

The fancy pants Frenchman took one from his shoe,

and the shifty eyed cowpoke knew just what to do.



We all drew a bead on old Black hearted Jack,

he was shot in the head, the heart, and the back.

Riddled with bullets, fell dead to the dust,

yet most people say  his reward had been just.

We settled our score in the old Texas way,

for we ALL were in love..... with a dancer named Mae.



They carried old Jack, up high on a hill,

and buried his body with nary a frill,

right ‘neath a sycamore, next to an oak,

away from that Texas town’s other dead folk,

‘cause even in death they expected a fuss,

for Jack was an ornery, vindictive, old cuss.



A headstone still stands there, to this very day,

with just a few words, as there’s not much to say,

“Here lies the infamous Blackjack McGee,

we buried him here, ‘neath this sycamore tree.

He lived all his life, by the rule of a gun,

and that’s why he’s stone dead, at age fifty-one.”



The story’s still told, that for many long years,

a lady arrived, every day to shed tears.

She left on his headstone, a single red rose,

that still leaves a scent, when the Texas wind blows.

She remembered old Jack, in a lovingly way,

that beautiful gal..... was a dancer named Mae.