Riders on the storm

at the saloon he blew his top that day a brave soul caught beneath the undertow
we filed into the road on horse back with our gun in the back
heads were swearing up in down as he frowned didn't want to be around
got spurs on my shoes with sweat on my hat the brow permeates an odor
whiskey woman have take me by the hand it was the time we took our stand
so we made our way out on a barrenn path together as riders on the storm
it was coming quick but we kept treading along singing our song
we were back in the saddle again with very close knit friends
a snake suddenly crossed our path was headed side ways
on our way to inter pass number nine with our steel wheel reserve
the storm kept on brewing but we knew what we were doing
folks in these sticks live as hide away hicks getting lost in its fix
a slip of the hand let me help you understand we were a wolf pack head
was it a mirage we looked ever closer as our horses investigated the odor
we were headed south and the interpass was near a friend took a piss in together

some clearing
there in the distance stood the sign of inter pass nine we were finally there
one toke over the line sweet Jesus we made it home fine
we were the riders on the storm like a dog without its bone
now was a time of celebration for we made it to our destination
we needed to take a break on a long awaited vacation
just then an evil man pulled out his gun shot some of our men dead
what was going on inside his head had a face full of lead
yet we got revenge and shot him down
never again will I be so king to a stranger in exchange shot us blind

This poem is about: 
My community


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