He blew through the doors of the local saloon,
Fresh from howlin outside at the big July moon.
A lot of men scattered and jumped from his path.
He was one man that nobody crossed.
He had served as a sheriff in three or four towns,
And run more than one mankiller clean to the ground.
And sometimes he’d rode on the law’s other side.
And sometimes some lives had been lost.
He was bigger than life and louder than Hell.
Had a voice that rang out like a riverboat’s bell.
And you knew that some trouble might break out real soon
That was just what old Tom was about.
He could drink any two men plumb under the table.
If you challenged him then cause you thought he weren’t able,
To pull out his sixgun and start in to workin.
Then you’d hear all the other boys shout..
“Don’t rile the man, Pard”, is what they’d be sayin
“He might look like he’s drunk but he’s really just playin.
If you call him out now, you’ll soon wish that you hadn’t
You’ll be just one more notch on his gun.”
“He didn’t get this far by actin the fool
So stay out of his way and stick to your stool.
Just smile real politely and buy him a shot,
And tell him it’s all in good fun.”
Now I’m telling you true just how old Tom appeared.
He made many men wary and a few more afeared.
But he might have been different than most of us thought.
So I’ll tell you the story here now.
On the hot July evening he left the bar late,
As the shouts and the fights seemed at last to abate,
And he walked out the doors to the dusty old street.
And that’s when he heard a big row.
Some young Texas cowboys fresh off the big trail
Rode in liquored up with the wind in their sails.
Firin’ their Colts and payin’ no mind
To whatever might stand in their way.
Now old Tom saw the little old lady just then.
Grey, bent and crippled. As frail as a hen.
She was crossin the street in front of the herd
As the sun slowly broke the new day.
Tom was on her in two strides and lifted her up.
And pushed her aside like a dog with a pup.
But there wasn’t no time for Tom to do more.
It was there that he’d made his last play.
With a noise just like thunder the herd cut him down.
And Tom disappeared with nary a sound.
The dust settled slowly, the crowd rushed the scene.
But old Tom lay as still as the snow.
Now a lot of folks think that old Tom met his end
With guns blazin bravely and wearin a grin.
But that wasn’t his fate. No it wasn’t at all.
It seems that you just never know.
You never know truly what’s in a mans heart.
When it’s time will he stand up and just do his part?
Will the grace in him show as the sands run out?
Will he put a rough life to the mend?
Well old Tom gave himself for a stranger that day
When he could have just watched, and not made a play
But his heart beat too strong and he did the right thing
And that’s why I called him my friend.
