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In a dusty wood saloon back in eighty-five Holding cards that keep
no man alive
Aces over eights, the black suit glare
Sitting with your back to the open air The dealer smiles but
his eyes are cold You're holding on to a curse untold
It is the dead man's hand,
a cursed design
A heavy shadow on the borderline
Hold them close, feel the cold steel bite
The dead man's hand takes your life tonight A
shadow moves by the swinging door
Nobody's laughing in the house no more
A sudden flash from a barrel black
A leaden bullet takes you from the back
The iron hammer strikes your head so deep
Sending you down to eternal sleep
As you fall from the chair to the sawdust floor
You won't be betting in this life no more The black cards
scatter by your quiet side
Out in the West where the lost souls hide Aces and
eights...
Beside your body... (ahhhh)