There’s smoke in the hills
   And prints on the path
   The moon dangles down on the hyena’s laugh
   And there are riders with guns by their sides
   The wagon train’s full of women and hides
   The men drink and smoke to help pass the time
   Men have their thoughts and plans to decide
   And the dust brings the thirst to the mouths open wide
   The wagon train leaves the hills
   As the gold hits the fever
   The wagon train tips the scales
   Wagon train you can keep her
  
   There’s gold in them hills
   It’s treasure to claim
   A ghost in the hillside calls out my name
   In the wind a roar as the tumbleweed tumbles
   The rocks cast a shadow where the horses have stumbled
   And we light up a flame as the sky above rumbles
   Like the bellies that feast on a meal that is humble
   And the rain slashing down as I shave off my stubble
  
   There’s arrows that fly
   As guns start to shoot
   There’s mud in your eye and stones in your boot
   With wagons on fire and women left screaming
   Some left for dead and others left bleeding
   There’s nothing left now and nothing worth keeping
   The treasure was trapped and sprung when in sleeping
   Not even the wind from the rocks is left breathing