Johnny Roller was the sheriff of County Carr – the best –liked man ever wore the star;
He had a lightning draw, an unerring arm, and a subtle, boyish charm.

Now, one dusty morning, the rumor spread that out in Scorcher, the restless dead
Had arisen out of their shallow graves and were having themselves a rave.

They were running amok through the tortured town; they were chasing the living and cutting them down,
And scooping their brains like salmon roe, and Johnny said, “well, they’ll have to go.”

His duty calls; he must defend the poor, beleaguered town –
For when the dead forget their place, they must be put back down.
Now, roll on Johnny, and beat them bones.

Now, his wife, and mistress, and dear Aunt Flo all pleaded with Johnny – told him not to go:
“You’re good for more than a zombie’s feast; why don’t we just send the priest?”

But the priest was sleeping off a Sunday spree, and Johnny said, “let’s let him be.
“There’s nothing the Padre can do the dead, that I can’t with a slug of lead.”

So, he saddled his horse, and made sure his trusty six-guns were loaded, and hit the dusty
Trail as the sun was starting to glide on down to the other side.

He’s saddled up his broom-tail partner and begun to ride.
He’ll fix those upstart drifters who forget that they have died:
Now, roll on Johnny, and beat them bones.
Roll on Johnny (Johnny, Johnny) and beat them bones.

He rode all night by the light of a torch, and early morning found him on the edge of scorcher –
A shabby little town near the county line, in the shadow of a dried-up mine.

The streets were empty, and all he heard were the howling winds and his own two spurs.
He’d left his horse by the nearby mesa; she wouldn’t go near the place.

There were bodies lying in the street, and the tooth-marks showed that they’d been eaten.
Now, Johnny was no lamb out of the fold, but all the same his blood ran cold.

And suddenly, there they were, surrounding him; they’d crept up without a sound.
Their faces were split by evil grins, and they clacked their teeth at him.

They were walking bones, these fiends from Hell; their ribs were bleached and their teeth were yellow,
And their sockets stared like loaded dice, and turned his soul to ice.

They’ve got him now, they’ve set a trap, they took him by surprise.
He’s in their sights, but he don’t mind, ‘cause only he has eyes.
Now, roll on Johnny, and beat them bones.
Roll on Johnny (Johnny, Johnny) and beat them bones.

But Johnny Roller was resolute. He pulled his guns and began to shoot.
He nailed their skulls with his cherry stones, and they dropped like sacks of bones.

But although Johnny knew his wrong from his right, the poor
Guy had never tangled with the creatures of the night before:
As soon as they were down, they got up again, and Johnny saw that he couldn’t win.

So he took off running at a crazy pace, and they clicked their heels and they all gave chase:
Right up the hill they scrabbled and climbed, till he reached the abandoned mine.

So now he’s off and running, with the dead in hot pursuit.
He’s at a loss, cause he can’t kill the things that he can’t shoot.
Now, roll on Johnny, and beat them bones.
Roll on Johnny (Johnny, Johnny) and beat them bones.

He felt his way down the deepest shaft, hearing bony toes as they scuttled in after him,
And then he knew that he couldn’t go back: he’d found his way into a cul de sac.

So he prayed to god not to scald his soul, and as he heard them coming through the dismal hole,
He took a square of paper, licked it wet, and rolled his final cigarette.

As he struck the match, he saw their upraised claws; but something in the corner gave him some pause:
By the self-same match, he could also see, ‘bout as close to him as you are to me, a small crate of TNT.

The cloud of dust was a mile high. It coated the cattle, it fouled the sky,
It filled the air with the smell of oil, but it made real good topsoil.

He won the battle after all; the man deserves a cup,
‘Cause if he couldn’t shoot them down, at least he blew them up.
Yes, even heroes aren’t immune to fortune’s cruel jokes.
So kids, remember: be prepared and always pack your smokes.
Roll on Johnny, and beat them bones.
Roll on Johnny (Johnny, Johnny) and beat them bones.

So, all was well; the day was saved, and if the bones ever try to dig out of that grave,
As soon as one’s close to breaking ground, Johnny Roller reaches up…and pulls him back down.