Traditional & Folk Songs with lyrics, midis & Mp3
Boomer Johnson

Boomer Johnson

Boomer Johnson

Oh, Mister Boomer Johnson was agettin' old in spots
But you don't expect a bad man to go 'rasslin' pans and pots.
He'd done his share of killin', but his draw was gettin' slow
So he quits apunchin' cattle and he takes to punchin' dough.

Our foreman up an hires him thinkin' age had rode him tame
But a snake don't get no sweeter by the changin' of his name.
Boomer knew his business, he could cook to make you smile
But say, he wrangled fodder in a most peculiar style.

He didn't use no matches, left 'em layin' on the shelf
Just some kerosene and cussin', and the kindlin' lit itself
Pardner, I will tell you, it would give a man a jolt
Just to see him stir frijoles with the barrel of his Colt.

He built his doughnuts solid, and it sure would curl your hair
Just to see him plug the holes when he tossed them in the air,
He drilled the holes plumb center every time his pistol spoke,
'Til the can was full of doughnuts and the shack was full of smoke.

We was all a-gettin'jumpy but he couldn't understand
How his shootin'made us nervous when his shootin' was so grand.
He kept right on performin'and it weren't no surprise
When he took to markin' tombstones on the covers of his pies.

They didn't look no better nor they didn't taste no worse
But settin' at the table was Iike ridin' in a hearse.
We didn't do no talkin' and we took just what we got
We et 'til we was foundered just to keep from gettin' shot.

It was early one bright mornin', I was feelin' kinda low
When Boomer passed the doughnuts, I answered, "Plenty, no
Coffee's all this trip I'm takin','cause my stomach is a wreck."
You could see the lust for killin' swell the wattles of his neck.

Scorn his grub! He strung some doughnuts on the barrel of his gun
He shoved it in my gizzard and he says, "You're takin' some."
He was set to start a graveyard but for once he was mistook
Me not wantin' any doughnuts, well I up and salts the cook.

Did they fire him? Listen, pardner, there was nothin' left to fire
Just a row of smilin' faces and another cook to hire,
If he found another outfit and is cookin', what I mean,
It's where they don't need matches and they don't use kerosene.

From Harmonious Companions, Myers
Transcribed from singing of Margaret McArthur