Texas Jack’s

I entered Texas Jack’s
And pulled up a stool
Gazed at the menu
As is the rule.

The ranch hands all chattered
Lively and loud
Hats on their heads
Cocky and proud.

There are dives like this
All across Texas
Cursed by God
And the Devil’s hexes.

This place served fire chili
And homemade sausage
And judging by the smell
They were sending a message.

But being new here
I ordered the house brand
And settled in
To make my last stand.

The counter guy slid
Wax paper before me
Plopped down the sausage
And a dollop of chili.

"The knife and fork," he said
"Are chained by your side
And if someone told you
I’d buss your mess, Pard, they lied.

I’ll bring out a bucket
Of hot water and soap.
It’s your job to wash up.
If you figure I’ll do it. Nope."

So I sat there eating my supper
And drank a lukewarm 7 Up.
And if you guess
I cleaned-up my mess. Yup.

If you’re south of the Red River
And lookin’ for food
Stear clear of Texas Jack’s
And a waiter surly and rude.

But I’m here to tell ya
What’s even worse
Is that their sausage and chili
Is the Devil’s own curse!

I can’t yet sit my pony
Nor ride as I ought
‘Cause that sausage and chili
Still gives me the trots!