The Galloping Goucho - Stackridge

The Galloping Gaucho comes to town.

Riding like a demon vacquero,

Bought his horse for half a crown and called him Scar Faced Jock.

Battered Geetar on his back, poncho looking just like a lightshow.

All his welfare in a sack, he often travelled light,

He rode all through the night-

With a fleeting glance at a local dance and a cloud of dust in the morning.

The girls all stood and stared, intentions undeclared,

For a six foot drip with a plastic Whip he could not be compared.

The Galloping Gaucho hits the town,

Made a date with Los Paraguayos Dressed in a pin-striped suit of brown,

He wore his bowler hat.

Drinking wine and feeling fine when a dark hair girl appeared in a doorway,

Dressed in green like a gypsy queen, she looked like dynamite,

They rode all through the night.

With a fleeting glance at a local dance and a cloud of dust in the morning.

The boys all stood and stared,

Intentions undeclared,

For a brave Don Juan with a shakey hand he could not he compared.

The stack heeled cowboys in our town are apt to think -their demon vacqueros.

Dressed in pin-striped suits of brown they think that we’re uncool.

Shiny Geetars on their backs, make-up looking just like a lightshow.

Just avoiding Income Tax to get a little tight.

They ride all through the night,

With a far out glance at a local dance and a cloud of dust in the morning.

The girls all stood and stared.

intentions undeclared.

To a boss-eyed blade on his last crusade they could not be compared.