“If you’re around when I’m about to croak,
Please promise me it won’t be in Texas;
‘Cause I’d lose a bet to a blackjack bloke,
And in the end, a debt often wrecks us –
Bein’ dumb sons’of’bitches, you and me.”
And then with nothing but a puff of smoke,
That poor Kentucky kid joined long dead folk
While drunkenly daydreaming of Dundee.