Uploaded March 2021 | Updated September 2026, 2 hours ago

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Don't Ask track 18. Thanks to rocketman0739 for providing high-quality versions of these songs.
Download the album here: archive.org/details/filk_dont_ask
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Lyrics:

Mr. Boomer Johnson was a-gettin' old in spots,
But you can't expect a badman to go wrastlin' pans and pots;
He'd done his share of killin' but his draw was gettin' slow,
So he quit to punchin' cattle and he took to punchin' dough.

Our foreman up and hired him, thinkin' age had rode him tame,
But a snake don't get no sweeter from the changin' of his name.
Boomer knew his business—he could cook to make you smile,
But say, he wrangled fodder in a most peculiar style.

He didn't use no matches—left em layin' on the shelf,
Just some kerosene and cussin' and the kindlin' lit itself.
Pardner, let me tell you, it would give a man a jolt
To see him stir frijoles with the barrel of his Colt.

He built his doughnuts solid, and it sure would curl your hair
To see him plug the holes when he tossed 'em in the air.
He drilled each hole plumb center every time his pistol spoke,
Till the can was full of doughnuts and the shack was full of smoke.

We was all a-gettin' jumpy, but he couldn't understand
Why his shootin' made us nervous when his shootin' was so grand.
He kept right on performin', and it wasn't no surprise
When he took to markin' tombstones on the covers of his pies.

Now they didn't look no better and they didn't taste no worse,
But sittin' at the table was like ridin' in a hearse;
We didn't do no talkin' and we took just what we got,
We et till we was foundered just to keep from gettin' shot.

'Twas early one fine mornin', I was feelin' sorta low,
When Boomer passed the doughnuts, I answered, “Plenty, no.
Coffee's all this trip I'm takin', for my stomach is a wreck.”
You could see the lust for killin' swell the wattles of his neck.

Scorn his grub? He strung some doughnuts on the barrel of his gun,
And he stuck it in my gizzard and he said, “You're takin' some!”
He was set to start a graveyard, but for once he was mistook;
Me not wantin' any doughnuts, I assaults the cook.

Did they fire him? Listen, pardner, there was nothin' left to fire,
Just a row of smilin' faces and another cook to hire.
If he found another outfit and is cookin', what I mean,
It's where they don't use matches nor they don't use kerosene.