on the ninth of March, '16:
five hundred cowards, fearless men,
and bastards in between,
and we showed our might, and lit the flames
and let our yells resound,
and then we burned Columbus to the ground.
We stole some mules and horses,
and we felt that we were men --
and if we felt the need, then we'd
be coming back again.
They recognized Carranza, boys,
a choice we felt unsound,
and so we burned Columbus to the ground.
Quesada led us in our raid,
took eighty to their grave.
Don't ever charge machine guns, boy --
it's stupid, though it's brave.
They sold bad bullets, but used good,
the insult to compound,
until we burned Columbus to the ground.
Yeah, we got hunted. So they say.
I never felt afraid.
'cause men have hunted me before
to lay me in my grave --
and Black Jack Pershing wasn't bad,
'cause we didn't stick around
once we burned Columbus to the ground.
And I got bought a million drinks,
loved by a million girls.
They all forgot me in a while,
they moved on, just like the world.
But Columbus left its mark on me,
and each night I hear the sound:
the screams of old Columbus, as we burned it to the ground.