Little Joe with Broken Arrow

Oh your pain Little Joe
Arrow in your breast
From a wild Commanche Moon
Your wild pinto rides
Into the barren ground
Leave the whisky in the wagon
I need it not
The pain will be the pain
Arrow in my heart
From the wild Commanche Moon.

Little Jo and Hoss Surrounded

They done worked up a hate last night
A mob has formed up the creek
They will be here by noon
Lock those two in the old prison
Aint nothing gonna be left of this town
If that mob works up a good hate
This is a bitter pill
It sure is Little Jo, it sure is.
Send for the Doc.

Little Green Jacket

Little Joe with his bright green jacket
With his speckled pinto he rides
Into the western sky
Looking for a lost calf
Searching for water to drink
The thirst.
Oh the thirst.
Where is my brother Hoss?
There is a gypsy every mile.