There are persons of sin who never win;
There are those who toil for naught;
There are those who practice vile things
And never do get caught.
The world has seen the good and the mean,
But the most righteous it ever saw,
Was the night in a room filled with gloom,
Rosie shot her preacher-Pa.
Rosie's daddy was a preacher man, hell-fire,
shoutin' kind,
He talked of heaven day and night, all sinners
were to find.
Oh, how she loved her daddy dear, though he often
smelled of rum;
'Twas better pounding pulpits than jumping
trains to bum.
Her cinnabar hair and porcelain face caused many
a coin to drop
Into her daddy's hat each time his preacher-
talk did stop.
He looked so grand in his fine coat, the cuffs
were made of lace;
Sweet Rosie May beamed silent, proud, a smile
lit her face.
She'd never known her Mama dear, just a picture
in a locket.
The one her Pa kept tucked away, deep inside
his pocket.
'Twas said while giving birth to her, angels
passing by
Had snatched her Mama's hand and vanished in
the sky.
Her Pa, he raised her sternly, but Rosie
understood.
He often told her late at night, she must obey
his word.
Years flew by and Rosie frowned, questioning
his good;
Something didn't seem quite right, just not the
way it should.
Suspicions were confirmed one eve while hiding
near the tent;
She saw her Pa a-kissin' hard, a woman known
'for rent.'
A brothel-queen for sure was she red hair like
Rosie May's.
Rosie snatched the locket and stood there
in a daze.
She didn't need to look inside, with eyes so
filled with tears;
The lady in her Pa's arms, ... her mother of
lost years!
Their features were identical, the charm,
the china face;
Now she understood why he'd warned her
'bout disgrace.
Off she ran and jumped aboard a West-bound
wagon train;
To hide her true identity and cover up
the pain.
Dusty days soon settled down, the hardship
trail was gone;
And Rosie grew up might fast to face her life
each dawn.
Not finding work in any town, what could a poor
girl do?
She walked into a preacher's tent to find if God
was true.
"Will He save my helpless soul, like Daddy
always said?
Or provide me with His love and my
daily bread?"
Head hung low, on bended knee, "Oh Lord keep me
from harm."
And as her prayer drifted off, a preacher touched
her arm.
A gentle stroke removed her tears, a hand caressed
her face;
His clothes were tailor-made, the cuffs of
fine French lace.
"Come, come my dear,' he softly cooed. "A child of
your beauty;
Together, you and I can serve the Lord with
double-duty."
She meekly rose and followed him, a sign from
heaven-high;
A preacher-man to care for her, she wouldn't
ask Him, "Why?"
"It is His Will, of that I'm sure," she gasped with
sheer delight.
And so she thought, until he climbed into her bed
that night.
As days turned into weeks she learned her
fate so well;
Embracing men in slender arms, she headed
straight for Hell!
She did his bidding for his friends, then soon
the strangers came;
In time her bedding down with them
was just a waiting game.
Months passed by for Scarlet Rose, he name was
known back East;
The dapper gents paid preacher-man, while Rosie
laid the feast.
Her bed 'n board provided, she earned each
piece of lace,
A countenance of innocence became a hardened
face.
"Oh Jesus!" Rosie cried one night, "Please send
my Pa, dear God!
To save me from my wicked life, he needn't spare
the rod."
"A shameless daughter I have been, he's repented
too, I'm sure.
If we could be together now our lives would be
so pure."
But late that night as Rosie lay so snug and deep
in bed,
She heard a voice that smelled of rum, it brushed
against her head.
"I like'em young," he whispered. Then suddenly
she saw,
The man who'd climbed into her arms, none other
than her Pa!
"I've heard of you sweet Scarlet Rose," he said
not yet aware.
"You're like my dear 'departed' wife, a scarlet
woman, fair."
"No! No!" cried Rose. "You wicked man! You drunken
preacher sod!
"It's not me that needs forgiveness, it's you who
needs the rod!"
Pushing him, she spun around and swung with
all her might,
"I am your daughter Rosie May, I saw you that
dark night!"
"Two women's lives you've ruined Pa, with your
lying, drunken way,
I know why Mama left you now, she had to pay
and pay!
She sinned herself away for you, to keep you in
fine clothes,
And had I never ran that night, my God, dear
heaven knows!"
"You'd used me for you gainful self, and chased
the others, too.
Well Papa, let me tell you now, I've got news
for you!"
From gartered leg, a dainty gun, she triggered off
a blast;
Her preacher-Pa with widened eyes ... his disbelief
it didn't last.
The bullet struck him in the chest, a wound so
deathly raw;
A gurgled sigh filled the room, she summoned
for the law.
Stunned, she sat and waited for 'ole Sheriff
Charlie Blue,
Knowing what she'd done was for
her Mama, too.
His death unquestioned by the judge, "'Twas self
defense," said Rosie May.
She hadn't really lied to him, it was quite true
in some sad way.
His body shipped back to the East, a preacher with
his Bible, dead;
And there beside his open grave, two Scarlet women
dressed in red!
There are persons of sin who never win;
There are those who toil for naught;
There are those who practice vile things
and never do get caught.
The world has seen the good and the mean,
but the most righteous it ever saw,
was the night in a room filled with gloom,
Rosie shot her preacher-Pa.
