Po8 Lyrics

I've laboured long and hard for bread for honor and for riches but on my corns too long you've tread you fine-haired sons of bitches... and here I lay me down to sleep to wait the coming morrow perhaps success, perhaps defeat and everlasting sorrow known as Black Bart had his trademark by signing his raid with poems he made yet come what will I'll try it once my conditions can't be worse and if there's money in that box 'tis mnuney in my purse known as Black Bart had his trademark by signing his raid with poems he made life was dusty and colts drawn fast time was gusty and distances were vast known as Black Bart had his trademark by signing his raid with poems he made known as Black Bart had his trademark by signing his raid with poems he made