(now this here's a true story about a factual man
he drifted down the Pecos like the tall shadow of death
took fifty lives in cold blood but he never took a drink
not on Christmas nor the day his mother died
for he was and ever shall be
a methodist)

by the early rising sun, hear the thunder of your gun
(deacon jim, deacon jim)
a dirt poor child of arkansas, born before the time of law
(deacon jim, deacon jim)

hired gunning's no crusade, just another stock in trade
just as honest, maybe more, than any cattleman or whore

you keep the holy days
nevermind your wicked ways
and you never touch that whiskey
which the devil made to snare you
shame on him
deacon jim

now a double shotgun blast does the job and does it fast
put a price on every man, you'll collect because you can
you're the envy of your kind, deep in spirit clear in mind
and you hide a deadly truth, they don't know you're bulletproof

you keep the holy days
nevermind your wicked ways
and you never touch that whiskey
which the devil made to snare you
shame on him
deacon jim

now blood cries out when the sun begins to burn it
is your price so high to pay for how you earn it?
are you storing it away for the end of earthly days
hey gunslinger, what's your line?

when they run you down at last, they'll be sure to hang you fast
but i hope that on that day, in the final hour you'll pray
for you're certain to be sent where blood money pays the rent
with your riches you could dwell in the finest halls of hell

you kept the holy days
nevermind your wicked ways
and you never needed whiskey
for the devil's hand to snare you
say amen
deacon jim