Dirty Angel

Humble Folks

Coyote (feat. William Clark Green) (The Ballad of Roy Johnson)

How the Mighty Fall

Lost Without You

Backside of 30

Prairie House Redemption (feat. Sam Anderson & Quaker City Night Hawks)

Same Kind of Crazy as Me

Cody Jinks Sings Lefty Frizzell

I Never Go Around Mirrors

Out where the buzzards circle high,
By sundown’s flame and coyote cry,
He rides with shadows in his wake,
A ghost in boots, no soul to take.
They call him “Judge” but he ain’t fair,
Paid in silver, cold-eyed stare.
He don’t ask why, don’t blink nor beg,
Leaves justice hangin' by a broke man’s leg.

He don't smile, he don't pray,
Just passes sentence with a Colt and a say.
Right or wrong, make no fuss,
The Judge rides alone, and the blood drips in the dust.

Tombstone folk don’t speak his name,
But they know the smoke, they know the flame.
Came down from Benson with blood on his trail,
A saddlebag full and a face gone pale.
No kin, no creed, no preacher’s word,
Just a ledger of names he’s already heard.
From rich man’s cry to outlaw’s bluff,
He hangs 'em high or he shoots 'em rough.

He don't smile, he don't pray,
Just passes sentence with a Colt and a say.
Right or wrong, make no mistake,
The Judge rides alone, and never holds a wake.

Met the Clanton boys out at Council Hill,
They laughed ‘til his stare turned the air all chill.
Billy reached fast but the Judge shot first,
Left Ike bleedin’ where the dust was cursed.
Said, “Y’all was marked since the Apache raid—
I don’t care what side, just who gets paid.”
He tipped his hat, let silence fall,
Then rode on west ‘fore the nightbirds called.

Ain’t no Heaven in the work he’s done,
But Hell ain’t caught him, he still has won.
Some say he's cursed, some say he's law—
But all agree what they felt and saw\...

He don't smile, he don't pray,
Just passes sentence with a Colt and a say.
Right or wrong, he scares most men,
The Judge rides alone... and the bullet hits again.

They call 'em the Judge

I got a mullet like a possum tail,
Boots so loud they leave a diesel trail.
I sing ‘bout trucks, dogs, beer, and pain,
But dang ol’ radio won’t play my name!

I mailed my demo on a scratchy CD,
With a six-pack coupon and a selfie of me.
I’m better than Garth, Tim, and ol’ George Strait—
But that radio man won’t let me be great!

Play me, Jacob, I’m a honky-tonk flame
Hotter than a grill at a tailgate game!

I done tattooed “Nashville” on my chest,
Right under where my mama says, “God bless.”
I rhymed “beer” with “deer” and “heartache stew,”
That’s classic country—shoot, who knew?

I parked outside that station for a week,
Played ‘Freebird’ naked with a chew between me teeth.
But radio guys just stared through the blinds so cold,
Like my platinum dreams weren’t solid gold!

Play me, Jacob, I’m a honky-tonk flame
Hotter than a grill at a tailgate game!

So if you hear this, Jacob, you radio clown,
Know there’s a star in this town wearin’ the future  country crown!

They call 'em the Judge

K02m0naut

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