A man appeared before wells fargo

Wells fargo's stage driver man

Wearing a long white linen

And a dust flour sack over his head

Pointed a double barreled shotgun

At the driver and forced him to halt

Please throw down your box sir

And madame please o don't need your money or pearls

They call him black bart p08

The highway bandit po8try man

Leaving his poem disappeared

Like a ghost on his own all on his own

The road he owns

Rise black bart rise I'm calling

Calling your spirit out

Dust off your hat and hatchet

There are boxes out there with your name and mark

The road has been cold and lonely

The road has been out of good tales

Let's shake up some dust

We'll be opening the box like before just like before

And leave a poem

For honor and for riches

I've labored long and hard for the bread

But on my corns too long you tread

You fine haired sons of bitches