Bordertown Riff-Raff

He’s just your average border-town riff-raff thumbed a ride out of El Paso, crossed that line in the desert sand headed south where the cocaine grows. Running from child-support, bills and rent, speaking broken Spanish in a southern accent searching for a place to rest his bones. Met a senorita so young and full of life, who over a margarita he asked to be his wife and they settled down and made themselves a home. But there wasn’t enough Tequila in all of Mexico to satisfy the thirst of his parched and barren soul and once again the drifter began to roam.