Down south of the tracks, not very far,
There sits a small tavern, a right friendly bar,
That is on most days, 'cept Saturday night,
'Cause then there might be, an occasional fight.
Was late one Saturday, things had been quiet,
When out came the call, send help there's a riot,
All cops on the beat, guns and badges a wearin',
Headed down south, a sirens a blarin'.
A train on the tracks, the one o'clock freight,
The cops were blocked off, would just have to wait,
That is except one, a young Billie Hicks,
Lone cop at a bar fight, he'd be in a fix.
The train was a long one, no help on the way,
And Officer Hicks, alone in the fray,
The second call came, it's an all out war,
While back at the crossing, the officers swore.
A friend was in trouble, so near yet so far,
As tensions kept mounting, inside each cop car,
The train finally ended, the crossing was clear,
Was Billie all right? Each officers fear.
With nightsticks at ready, they charged through the door,
The first thing they saw, three men on the floor,
And there at a table, Billie Hicks sat,
Said, "Glad you could make it," with tip of his hat.
I've heard this tale often, over the years,
More often as not, while drinking some beers,
Lieutenant Bill Hicks, at home in the sky,
Just wanted to tell ya', was one heck of a guy.
A good cop he was, but was "good people" too,
I have this feeling, that one thing is true,
That when cops go to heaven, there Bill will sit,
With a tip of his hat, saying "Glad you could make it."