;                          Happy Valley Saloon by Charles Russell             

His Pa was from the Bayou, 
    not far from Thibodaux. 
   His mother, from El Paso, 
   by way of Mexico. 
  Though he was born in Texas
   and considered Texican,
   he cursed a lot in Cajun;
   and his songs were Mexican.

   He’d played a lot of poker
   from Big D to San Antone. 
   Sometimes it cost him plenty-
   near everything he owned. 
    But New Orleans was different. 
    It was good to Tex Lafitte.   
     He seldom lost a poker game 
     while down on Bourbon Street.  

The wailing horns of Bourbon Street
pulsated in his blood. 
He’d sink into their rhythms 
as if sucked by bayou mud.
He liked the beat on Bourbon Street. 
He liked its boozy blues;
and when he played on Bourbon Street
 he’d very seldom lose. 

Bourbon Street, he said, was where 
 his lucky lady stayed. 
On Bourbon Street, she held his hand 
 most every game he played. 
 The fact is, down on Bourbon Street, 
  his luck was just the same; 
  but with more verve and far more nerve, 
   he played a different game. 

One Mardi Gras, a few years back, 
 it seems that Tex Lafitte
 met an East Coast card sharp, 
 down on Bourbon Street. 
 The card slick knew most every trick
 and tried out quite a few….
 but none of it availed him much 
   because Tex knew them, too.
  Tex just plain outplayed him 
  on every hand they played.
Seems Tex just plain outguessed him
on every move he made.

 Although the slick was “card-sharp”
  and his luck was running hot, 
  when the game was over
  it was Tex that won the pot.
 The stranger lost more than the pot.
 The stranger lost his cool.
 He called Lafitte a dirty cheatin’,
  two-bit greaser’s fool.
 He bellowed many curses out;
 but kept repeating one.
 Lafitte was just a “dirty cheatin’
   two-bit greaser’s son”. 

 Tex ignored him till the stranger 
  flashed a loaded gun;
and said that only one of them
  would walk when night was done.
 Two shots exploded in the air,
 and echoed in the street.
 One was from the stranger’s gun; 
one shot was from Lafitte.  

 The stranger had a crystal ball.
 The words he said came true, 
that only one of them would walk 
 when the night was through.  
 Only one survived the night…  
 as threatened…only one…  
 the one he called the “dirty cheatin’,  
  two-bit greaser’s son”.   

                         Bette Wolf Duncan
                              copyright1999