How Crusty Bill Got the Saloon
by Michael L. Charters  

There's an old wood saloon in High Jinks
Where they serve mostly alcyhol drinks.
The bartender tends,
And you sit with yore friends,
And a dancegirl named Lizzybelle winks.

There's a poker game on in the back,
With a dealer named somethin’ like Mack.
He’ll deal you a card,
But be on your guard -
He’s got more in an old gunny sack.

There’s a piana that's never in tune,
And a player with a face like a prune.
The wind howls by outside,
You can get perty pie-eyed,
But it don't open 'til round about noon.

Now the owner lives up on the hill
And he goes by the name Crusty Bill.
He sits in a chair
With bugs in his hair,
And keeps his one eye on the till.

He lost th' other one back in the war,
And never knew what it was for.
He marched back and forth
From the South to the North,
And ended up broke and footsore.

Then he worked on the Illinois train,
And married a nice girl named Jane,
Before coming out west,
Settling down for a rest
In the snow and the mud and the rain.

Bill's mutt is the size of a bear,
Which in those parts was considered quite rare.
He stands there and growls
With spit on his jowls,
And peers out the door with a glare.

Well, the bartender's name is Sad Bob,
Who never had wanted a job.
He’ll pour you a drop
And tell stories nonstop,
Though most of  ‘em end with a sob.

There's a dance ever' Saturday night,
And the cowpokes are all quite a sight.
The piana man plays
And Crusty Bill prays
That they’ll dance without having a fight.

Big John represents the town's law -
He's occasionally quick on the draw.
But he don't see so well,
And you never can tell
When something gets stuck in his craw.

The deputy's said to be mean,
And he never was terribly clean.
The jail house is his home
And he looks like a gnome,
And he's always the last on the scene.

There's a six-room hotel on the square,
Where live the doc, barber and mayor.
The mayor treats ills,
The barber pays bills,
And the doc, oh he just cuts hair.

Deaf Dan's liv'ry stable just shut
'Cause a horse there was bit by Bill's mutt.
It bust down the door,
And did an awful lot more,
Then it kicked Deaf Dan in the gut.

One day there's a ruckus outside,
With a robber named Angus MacBride.
“He rode by mighty fast,”
Said the sheriff at last.
“I missed him,” he gulped, “but I tried.”

“He robbed the hotel, the cafe and bank,
Wearing chaps that were musty and stank.
He stood there a while,
Looking evil and vile,
Then took a drink from the old water tank.”

The sheriff he pulled on his beer,
And said, “What the hell's happening here?”
This was a nice town,
Though a little run-down,
And we ain’t had a murder all year.”

Oh, but you wanted to hear the whole tale
Of how Crusty Bill got out of jail,
And bought the old place
From a miner called Ace.....
Well, it weren't really much of a tale.

The End

Another poem involving Crusty Bill's Saloon
The Sewin' Cowboy