I found my true love sprawled without breath.
Between her bloody thighs was our newborn who caused her death.
I paced on over to meet my newborn
But my boots, they cannot grip upon this blood-soaked floor.
I will wear the Denver boot.
I called my preacher from Canada.
"Oh tell me, preacher, what's wrong with my child?"
"He's got the Helling," my preacher say.
He grabbed my elbow, tell me I must take him far away.
We went to my car, turned the engine on.
My car, it just stay put, though my boots to the floor.
I opened my door, I look at the ground
And around my tire, the Denver boot was bound.
I will wear the Denver boot.
I had my newborn cradled in my arms.
We crossed the mountains of Californ'.
My newborn's hungry for my true love's breast.
Hey, I'm a weak man. I stick to my chest.
I found a goat farm. Having no canteen,
I looked in my boot, worn and unclean.
I grabbed a goat's tit, squeezed out the milk,
Filled up the Denver boot.
From this, my son drank and he did not spill!
I will wear the Denver boot.
In California, they've got earthquakes.
The flock does crave them next to my son's shakes.
In San Francisco, there are men's choirs.
They sing me to the ocean, to escape Hell's fire
And at the water, I took off my boot, placed my son inside,
To ride upon the ocean until they find the truth.
I will wear the Denver boot.