It was a cold and cruel evening
Sneaking up on Speedy Creek
I found myself sleepin' in the snow
For one or two odd reasons
I ain't too proud to repeat
For now, we'll say I had no place to go
There was a rustle and a humming
Just hauling down the street
I drew myself up from my icy bed
Painted on that shiny car, the letters R-C-M and P
I can feel a little aching in my head

And then out jumps this old boy
About twice the size of me
He asked me for my name and where I dwell
I just looked him in the eye
And sang Blue Yodel Number 9
He didn't catch the reference, I could tell

Then the old familiar click
In the handcuffs bind and grip
You should have left me in the snow, where I laid
He just laughed and touched his gun
And turned to me and he said
Son, I bet you don't own a damn thing to your name

Well, I got my health, my John B Stetson
Got a bottle full of baby's bluebird wine
And I left my stash somewhere down in Preston
Along with thirteen silver dollars and my mind

Well, I got my health, my John B Stetson
Got me a bottle full of baby's bluebird wine
And I left my stash somewhere down in Preston
Along with thirteen silver dollars and my mind