You stole the pile, you son of a gun—
Our dust was in that bag!”
He glared at Joe like a grizzly bear,
Then he draw’d a bead an’ fired,
’Scavating a canon in Joseph’s hair,
In a manner we all admired.
But Joseph’s iron was ready to bark,
’Fore Hiram the dose could repeat,
Six shots, an’ Hiram was stretch’d out stark,
In a style as couldn’t be beat;