| A white man, in a white suit, an a white horse rides into town off that dusty ol' trail. | |
| He rides into town, not just any town. I'm talking d-e-a-de-n-d | |
| with integrity and his heart on his sleeve. | |
| He hopes they are going to buy what he believes. | |
| He offers every fool and every friend. | |
| that's a population of one hundred and three. | |
| a cure to their unchristian like ways. | |
| with a simple process of "drawing out" | |
| through the hole in the top of the skull | |
| then a snip, a cut and a couple of knots tied off. | |
| He offers to make them as good as new. | |
| "Better than you're used to" | |
| Sadly. The locals didn't take kindly to this well intentioned man | |
| They don't want a hand out form him. | |
| Instead, they take offense to a man coming into their town looking to tell right from wrong. | |
| That's when the situation goes from bad to worse. | |
| As they string him up at the town hall. | |
| It appears our smart-ass should have kept along that dusty, lonely trail. | |
| They tell him "The hands are the eyelids of the soul." |
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