A man appeared before Wells Fargo Wells Fargo's stage driver man Wearing 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 the box sir And madame please I don't need your money or pearls They call him Black Bart P08 The highway bandit poetry 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 A man appeared before Wells Fargo Wells Fargo's stage driver man Wearing long white linen And a dust flour sack over his head They call him Black Bart P08 The highway bandit poetry man Leaving his poem, disappeared Like a ghost on his own, all on his own The road he owns 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