Coffin Fit

Now, Buford Hays had a medical problem,
it was known around our town;
the folks 'round here called him a "living corpse",
the kind of fella you just can't keep down.
The local physicians were baffled, the preacher was at a loss of breath,
to explain this weird oddity that altered his commodities and so closely imitated his death.

It was his heart. It would just stop beating; or so the local doctors thought,
his pulse and respiration were no longer found; his vital signs would be shot.
Three times they wrapped him up in a sheet, and hauled him into town;
Three times he woke up in a morgue with coffins all around.

Now, this was kinda aggravating to Buford, who, otherwise had never been sick;
not to mention the danger of "dying" around strangers
..because,..well,..this is the West friends; and out here we bury you quick!

So, Buford never strayed too far away from home. Never went anywhere on a train.
He didn't want to wake up in some undertaker's parlor just to find that his blood had been drained!
Or even worse then that, there was that story by that Edgar Allen Poe,
of that poor young cuss that woke up in a box buried deep down in a hole.

Now, it wasn't that Buford was all that scared of dying,...nah!,
he'd been that route before.
He just didn't wanna die waking up from the dead,
He figured that would complicate matters even more.

Well, the last time that Buford died, it was at the age of seventy-three;
but the town being suspicious of a madly so malicious, for-went the embalming to "just wait and see."
And, at the end of three days, when he still hadn't moved,
a funeral was finally planned for the Methodist church, high atop the hill;
the one with the long sloping ramp.
And it was up this same ramp that the two undertakers was a rollin' poor Buford along,
when the back one tripped, and try as he may, the other just couldn't hold on.

Well that casket got away and rolled down that ramp,
and like a bullet, shot out into the street.
And when Buford "woke up", he had the weird sensation
that his bed was a gaining speed.
And not only that, it was dark in there, and kind of hard to breath;
and when he discovered the paradox of being shut up in a box, he decided it was time for him to leave.

Now, meanwhile, about two blocks down the hill, Herby Walters ran a little drug store;
the place wasn't much, but he did keep it clean with a spit-shine on that tile floor.
And it just so happened that Herby was up front washing windows that morning, when he looked over the top of his squeegee;
and he seen him a sight...well,..kinda like the one he saw on the night, that made him give up drinking while playing the Ouija.

He saw that casket coming hard, and heading right for the front door on his place;
so he figured the trajectory, and he also figured that he didn't have much time to waste.
He flung open the front and ran towards the back, and just when he got to the back door;
that gurney smashed into the curb out front and catapulted that casket right in there on that tile floor.

Well, the floor being waxed and as slick as a lawyer,
that box never slowed down one bit;
as a matter of fact, it even gained some speed from up front where it first hit.
But it was what happened next that will long be remembered by the patrons of that little store,
who had already been scared plum out of their wits when the "dead" man bounced though the door.
You see, it was that great big bounce was all that Buford needed to open the lid on that container;
for he had discovered that caskets aint made to be opened from within,
and that makes them somewhat of a restrainer.

But when Buford sat up, the people all screamed,
The women like flies started droppin.
And as he slid past the prescription center, he hollered,
"Hey Herby!,...have ya got anything to stop this coffin?"