WHY I LIVE IN MINNESOTA Where the temp gets down to thirty below And it's perfectly flat, miles of snow, And you ask why I live in this desolate spot. Because you do not. You in loud clothes With very big hair And very big pickups And not much upstairs, Who whoop in church And handle snakes To prove their faith For goodness sakes. They slur their speech Down in the South As if they had cotton balls Stuffed in their mouth. The men hunt gators Out in the marsh, While the women stay home And hang up the warsh And tend to the babies, And fix gator stew. Now what if these people Lived next door to you? And the only thing That keeps them away Is the fact it will hit Minus thirty today? Winter's a challenge But it can be faced When you're among people With brains and good taste. BILLY THE KID Billy the Kid Didn't do half of what they said he did He rustled cattle, I guess that's true, But nobody knew who they belonged to. He killed some men, maybe two or three, But he was always real nice to me.

Billy the Kid went on the run Down to Mesilla in 1881. Sheriff Pat Garrett put on the heat And came to the ranch of Billy's friend Pete But it wasn't Billy who was shot by Pat, It was someone wearing his pants and hat, Billy the Kid was miles away In Santa Fe with flowers in his hair And I know cause I was there. He made a fortune in fermented juices And built a mansion in Las Cruces, Changed his name to William Bonney Wrote "Way Down Upon The Swanee" And he may have been guilty to a degree But he was always real good to me And generous to my family. Always sent us a Christmas turkey From Albuquerque And a box of chocolate candy From down on the Rio Grande. They called him a killer and I guess he could be But he was always good to me.