Fighting lost battles,
Riding on old-fashioned saddles.
Wearing an out of style hat,
Never affraid to engage in combat.
His horse and gun are his companions,
He travels through prairies and canyons.
He sometimes brings his friend the hound,
They make a bed out of the cold ground.
Beer and whiskey are his only medicine,
His protection are the walls of a mountain.
His ways are foreign to our times,
And yet the mountain he climbs.
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