Down in the scrub-oak country of the South-East Texas gulf,
There used to ride a brakeman--and a brakeman double tough,
He worked the town of Kilgore and Longview 12 miles down,
And the hoboes said little East Texas Red was the meanest bull around.

Now whether you ride by the dim star light or the shimmering heat of the sun,
You will always see little East Texas Red just a-sportin' his cool running gun,
And the tale got switched down to stems and mains and everybody said,
That the meanes t bull on them shiny irons was little East Texas Red.

It was on one cold and drizzly day--along 'bout nine or ten,
A couple o' bums on the hunt of a job stood in the blizzardy wind,
Hungry and cold they knocked on the door of the workin' people all around,
For a piece of mead, a carrot or a spud just to boil their stew around.

Red he come on down the line and waved old number two,
Kicked their bucket over a bush and dumped out all o' their stew,
One of the boys said, "East Texas Red, you better get your business straight,
'Cause you're gonna ride that little black train just one year from this date."

Now, Red, he laughted and he clumb the bank & he jumped on the side of a wheeler,
And the boys caught a tanker for Seminole--then North to Amarillo,
They caught them a job of oilfield work and they followed that pipeline down,
It took 'em to a hell of a lot of places before that year had rolled around.

Then on one cold and foggy day they caught them a gulfbound train,
They shivered and shook with dough in their pockets to the scrub-oak flats again,
They followed the ties past the cinder dump until they came to that very same spot,
And there the same old 'bos set down--settin' 'round that same stew pot.

The smoke from their fire went higher and higher and Red come down the line,
He shivered and shook with the snow in his face as he waved old number nine,
He followed the ties past the cinder dump and he came to the very same spot,
And there he spied the same old 'bos a-settin' 'round that same stew pot.

Red went to his knees he hollered, "Please, don't pull that trigger on me."
"I did not get my business straight...", but he did not get his say.
A gun wheeled out from an overcoat--and it played the old 1-2,
And Red was dead when the other men sat down to eat their stew.

I've always felt this song by Woody Guthrie just might be an Americanization of the British tale SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT.

Anybody else see that connection?? (This song was on my first LP for Folk Legacy---A. T. THAT'S THE TICKET---now available on cassette from them or me. C-90)

Art Thieme