The Cowboy Way or the Tin-horn Trail
Is a choice confronts us all;
And there aren't that many can start down one
Then answer the other's call.

Those trails are different as night and day
Unlike as mirage and lake;
One of them is stable and clearly real
The other a shifty fake.

"That Quicksilver Kid from Queens" he claimed
"Is glib as a feller can get";
So the Kid's new name was bogus too,
So maybe he's nameless yet.

See, he couldn't ride, and he couldn't cull,
And he never rolled a smoke;
He couldn't cuss, and he couldn't cook,
And he thought our work a joke.

'Course this tin-horned triple-threat was last
To roll out every dawn
But the first one back to camp each night-
Or to have somebody on.

Now, no one knew where Kid came from
Nor ever really cared;
But we knew durn well his tin-horn tales
It was no place we had fared.

He kept that kilt of his hid away
Kind of like his real name;
And to ask a man about things like that,
Just isn't the Western way.

But sly, sorta snide, near sneers dished out
Was making it hard to grin;
And this taking himself a new name each day
- That was wearing mighty thin.

Our crew was a tolerant bunch
And a bit short-handed then;
So we tried to put up with the tin-horn's dance,
'Cause we had a herd to pen.

Then there came a night with glowing clouds
And a breeze that boded storms;
The herd was shifting, restless, ripe,
In the gloam just roiling forms.

The Quicksilver Kid was sent that night
To help us sing them 'round;
And a greater mistake ain't never been made
Since the Lord sent Satan down.

Kid snuck his kilt and pipes along;
-First notes of his lullaby
Launched lightning, horses, herd and crew
From froze to flyin' by.

Remuda just vanished before our eyes
There were cattle climbing trees;
Most of our crew is religious now
-Dropped Cookie right onto his knees.

While crew was gatherin' 'round the Boss
With a lynching 'bout to begun
Kid kept a playin' out there alone
-Smartest thing he'd ever done.

Boss calmed us all with a plan he had
Before the Kid come back;
An old idea, one tried and true,
Send a piper pipe 'em back.

We never did see that Kid again
We lost him when the sky turned pale;
Some say he's out there pipin' still,
But we reckon that's tin-horn tale.