Cowboys and Indians, Silver Dollar Bar,
where no one cares if you ain’t a star.
Great Northern freight a-chuggin’ on through,
our dads and our uncles were part of the crew.
Glass block sidewalks lit up the underworld,
where the seamy side of town was openly unfurled.
The paint was flakin’ off the grain elevator,
tourists couldn’t wait to hit the accelerator.
There’s a Buffalo jump at top of the hill.
when they ran ‘em off it must’ been a thrill.
From a Hundred above to Fifty below,
in the blazin’ heat or the driftin’ snow.
The people there were tough as an iron rail,
weren’t no place for the weak or the frail.
We had a lot of fun at Kepper’s Roller Rink,
the boy’s in their Levis, girls in pretty-pink.
Stopped in at Clyde’s for a burger and shake,
everything you wanted they’d be glad to make.
The Super Ice Cream Parlor was the place to be,
they said that Buddy Holley looked a lot like me.
Sittin’ in our cars across from the school,
smokin’ Lucky Strikes, thinkin’ we were cool.
And where we got our gas nobody knows,
a five-gallon can and a piece of garden hose,
Cruisin’ the drag to Buttrey’s parkin’ lot,
late in the night we were hot to trot.
The Lancers and Playboys had the coolest cars,
at Beaver Creek they raced underneath the stars.
We had a few keggers out by Saddle Butte,
if the cops showed up, we’d all have to scoot.,
Parkin’ and sparking by the water tower,
she had to go home at the Midnight Hour.
Cheered’ for the Ponies to go on to state,
hoped that someday we’d get to graduate.
We raised our voices up to the sky,
with Beer, Beer for old Havre High!
Sneakin’ in to the drive-in picture show,
‘tll ol’ Duncan M. said we had to go.
The college boys rode the old Goose bus,
and sometimes they threw snowballs at us.
Oh, how I long for the good old days,
seems like I drifted such a long ways.
Bullhook Bottoms was where I called home,
I sorta’’ miss it, no matter where I roam.
LDT April 12, ‘23
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Outlaws, Outrages and Outright Lies 