Maisie, the Far Queen

Way out west where the docks run dry. Where the whiskey's warm and the

gulls don't fly. There's a legend told 'round keg and beam. Of Maisie.

Maisie! The flatulent queen. She rides into port on a sway back mare.

Leather chaps, wind-tossed hair. Six-shot smile and a glint of scene.

They part like waves for the Far Queen. One cheek on the bar,

she calls for rum. Says, "Fill it to the brim.

You'll know I'm done. When the paint peels clean from your canteen."

Oh, Maisie! Maisie, Maisie, the Far Queen.