Pretenders Poem by david lessard

the James gang is gone, so are the Earps,
I wonder when the west was really won;
the Kid is dead and so is Wesley Hardin,
Hickock was killed in Deadwood, for fun.

the town too tough to die is tourist filled,
the hills of Jerome lay silent in the night;
all the cowboys are drunk and rowdy,
all they want to do is screw and fight.

the singers of the western screens are dead,
Rogers and Autry, gone the way of dust;
we've just pretenders in their shadows,
the heros of the wild west shows gone bust.

the days of Daltons are but memories,
and cowboys no longer sleep with stars;
they're found on stage with microphones,
and someone else will play the band's guitars.

there are no towns too tough to die no more,
they cater to folks that only want to play;
and pretend that there might be a tomorrow,
that resembles the old west in every way.