From the inside pocket of his Continental Suit. He rolled himself a Quirley and he lit it standing there He blew himself a smoke ring and he watched it disappear We thought he must be crazy when he opened up the gate Standing just inside was fifteen hundred pounds of hate. The buckskin tried to run him down but the stranger was too quick He stepped aside and threw his arms around the horse's neck He pulled himself upon the back of the horse they called "The Brute" Sat like he was born there in his continental suit. The Brute's hind end was in the air, his front end on the ground, Kickin' and a-squeelin' - trying to shake the stranger down But the stranger didn't give an inch - he came to ride "The Brute" And he came to ride the buckskin in a continental suit. Well, I turned around to look at Jim and he was watching me He said, "I don't believe the crazy things I think I see But I think I see the outlaw, the one they call 'The Brute' Ridden by a cowboy in a continental suit." The Brute came to a standstill - ashamed that he'd been rode By a city cowboy in some continental clothes The stranger took his money and we don't know where he went We don't know where he came from and we haven't seen him since. The moral of this story - never judge by what they wear Underneath some ragged clothes could be a millionaire Ev'rybody, listen - don't be fooled by this galoot The sure enough bronc-buster in a Continental Suit." />