Lbc

Libby you’re a looker
What do you do when he’s gone
Stay up late writing letters
Blow your kisses to the morning stars
The prairie’s never seen a prettier rose
I long to pluck your petals one at a time
You overwhelm, I would abandon my post
If it only meant a single night…
But that kind of overconfidence can’t come without consequence
Clouds in the sky, The Crow scouts seem concerned
The look concerned
I think they heard us coming
The pony herds started stampeding
Swear I’ve never seen so many
The greasy grass alive and squirming
Looks as though the tides are turning
Surrounded, five chambers empty
One last bullet left to carry you home
Libby you’re a looker
But you deserve so much more
A love unadulterated by any Indian war
The prairie’s never produced prettier foes
I long to pluck their feathers one at a time
Paint my face, steal a horse
And ride across the line
He won’t listen
We will give him
We will give him ears
They won’t listen
We will give them
We will give them ears