Ballad in O

O Boomtown’s got lots of sordor:
odd horrors of throwdowns,
bold cowboys lock horns,
forlorn hobos plot to rob

pots of gold, loco mobs
drool for blood, howl or hoot
for cottonwood blooms, throng
to hood crooks to strong wood posts.

So don’t confront hotbloods,
don’t show off, go to blows or rows,
don’t sob for gold lost to trollops,
don’t drown sorrows on shots of grog.

Work morn to moon.
Know how to comb bottom pools,
spot dots of gold to spoon pots of gold.
Vow to do good.