So git out de way, ole Dan Tucker,
Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker,
Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker,
You’re too late to come to supper.”
A crowd had gathered on the street. It watched with eagerness the taming of this bad man. In the old fighting West nobody was more despised than a cowed “man-eater.” The good citizen who went about his business and made no pretensions held the respect of the community. Not so the gunman whose bluff had been called.
On the outskirts of the crowd a quiet man—he was Captain J. A. Palmer and he had nerves of steel—took up the chorus of the song derisively. Others began to hum it, at first timidly, then more boldly:
“Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker,
Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker,
Git out de way, ole Dan Tucker,
You’re too late to come to supper.”