April 20, 1955: The Ballad of Wild Willy Warschach

"The Ballad of Wild Willy Warschach" by Davey 'the Dude' Dreiberg. Released on Columbia Records, April 20, 1955.


It was the dead of night and beneath moonlight, Warschach was cuttin' loose.
This feller, he never compromised, cuz only cowards make a truce.

Off he rode in the bitter cold, over hills 'n 'cross the plains.
Been ridin' straight two days 'n' nights, grippin' hard down on the reigns.

Just why he did, well it's been said, Warschach had a score to settle.
'Gainst some cuss named Nikola Veidt, who'd dared to test his mettle.

Now it's a fact, that feller Warschach, never backed down from a fight.
He'd hunt that polecat Veidt on down 'n teach him wrong from right.

'N teach him wrong from right.

Warschach! The name's Warschach!
Don't know it? Well then, son, you'd better learn!
Cuz Warschach! Yes, Warschach!
He can tear you down with nothin' but a "Hurm"!

Well it's the truth, says my aunt Ruth, so you listen well 'n good.
Warschach's persistence, it paid off, when he caught up to that hood.

Veidt was a man who had a plan to save the Wild West,
By blowin' up the towns 'n farms 'n make a heapin' mess!

The dude was nuts, but had some guts to threaten Wild Willy Warshach.
He figured himself the best there was 'n proclaimed it matter-of-fact.

But Warschach was no fool 'n kept his cool in the face of certain death.
He'd fight that ornery Veidt all night, even to his dyin' breath.

Even to his dyin' breath.

Warschach! The name's Warschach!
A tougher man the West had never seen!
Warschach! That's Warschach!
As ugly as his attitude was mean!

With his quarry met 'n of little threat, Warschach clenched both his fists.
When he was done, there'd be nothin' left, but a haze of bloody mist.

Now Veidt tweren't scared 'n came prepared, cuz he had a jaw made outta wicker.
He'd teamed up with some kinda freak; a glowin' blue city slicker!

This big blue man with the glowin' tan was naked as the day he was born,
'N with nothin' but the wave of his hand, he left Warschach ripped 'n torn!

Just like I said, Warschach was dead, in the blink of a heifer's eye,
But dyin' didn't bug him none, 'n let me tell you why.

'N let me tell you why.

Cuz Warschach! Yes, Warschach!
Looked the Reaper square between the eyes!
'N Warschach! That Warschach!
He still refused to ever compromise!

YEE-HAW!
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LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 22, 2009

Attempts to suppress existence of ancestor, Wild Willy Warschach, may prove to be impossible. Chart-topping ballad from 1955 has ensured his place in country music history.

Will never forgive Dreiberg bloodline for this. Never.

June 15, 1880: West of the Pecos

Journal of Wild Willy Warschach: June 15, 1880



This one horse town screams at me like a twenty gallon tumbleweed in a ten gallon hat. Reckon one of these days, folks're gonna look up at me 'n say, "Hey pardner, give us a hand, why don'tcha?" 'n I'll whisper back at em, "Not on yer life, son".

Ride into town just past sunset. All the crooks 'n critters come crawlin' outta their holes, 'bout this hour. Take one look at me 'n decide they're better off stayin' in fer the night. Good choice. Ain't in no mood ta kid around.

Sally on up ta Silky's Saloon and Cathouse. Filthy place. Got a smell about it, like a sweat-soaked bedsheet, dipped in whiskey 'n left sizzlin' in the sun. 'n Silky? Ya'll ain't never met a bigger whore than that there girl. But she ain't what I'm here fer. Not tonight, anyway.

Push open the saloon doors. Place goes dead quiet. Reckon I got myself a bit of a reputation 'round these parts. All the lilly-livered polecats what ain't got a taste fer their own blood clear on out the back 'n through the windows. Silky shoots me a couple dozen daggers. Girl ain't makin' no profit tonight. Ain't my problem.

Look over at the bar. Ain't gotta look no place else. That's where Dong Dreiberg's always sittin'. Dong Dreiberg: offspring of some Chinawoman 'n a well-to-do local. He ain't no Chinaman, though. Them's hard, honest workers. Built us them railroads 'n such. Dong got too much of his pappy in him. Soft. Lazy. More loot than he knows what ta do with.

Pull up a stool next ta Dong and get right down ta business. Know them city slickers Nikola Veidt 'n Professor Philadelphia been 'round these parts. Know they're up ta no good. Tell Dong ta spill his guts b'fore I spill em for him. Dong polishes off his sarsaparilla 'n tells me they got plans involvin' "world peace" 'n giant octopus things or somethin'. Says they done rode outta town no less then thirty-five minutes ago.

Leave the saloon 'n head on out after em at double speed. May not make it in time. May not even make it back alive. Reckon I gotta try. Warschach don't ever compromise on nothin'.

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LOLSCHACH's Journal: March 24, 2009

Taken interest in tracing own genealogy. Obvious mistake. Have recently learned horrible truth about cowboys. Must destroy all evidence. Hurm.

March 17, 2009: Day Off

LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 17, 2009

Stayed home. Fog drapes itself over the city like an oppressive mist.

Rain tickles across window panes like shell casings across blacktop.

Wet. Too wet.

Turn on TV to watch news. See children's show instead.


Reminds me of movie.

Two men. Cowboys. Riding out into the desert. Rough, tough. Happy to be embodiment of manliness. Share jokes. Watch sunset. Embrace. Kiss.

Do horrible, unclean things to each other in tent.

Lights go on. Audience stands up. Everybody claps, cries. Everybody but LOLSCHACH.

Movie wins Oscar.

Veidt sends copy to me as birthday gift. Hate him.