The cheroot rolls, as the gambler deals, and his slouching hat draws low,
An' his gleaming eyes turn steely cold in the seegar's wicked glow
An' Miss Red still stands, with her gloved hand, though the tension is running high
An' as the hard hand is drawn, and the bets laid down, you can hear he winsome sigh...

The dark strangers glances over the hand, smiling, and he sings softly to no-one on particular...

So all you rovin' gamblers, wherever you might be,
The moral of this story is very plain to see.
Make your money while you can, before you have to stop,
For when you pull that dead man's hand, your gamblin' days are up.
And it's ride, Willie, ride,
Roll, Willie, roll,
Wherever you are a-gamblin' now, nobody really knows.