`Twas out at old Wheeler Inn that I found her,
near the bar where I often had been.
I can still see the crowd dancing `round her,
where we met at old Wheeler Inns
She was tough as they make `em in Glasgow,
but somehow fate seemed to say "It's no sin."
and tho' I landed with the gang in the hoosegow,
still I don't blame that old Wheeler Inn.
Summertime was nearly over
up above, the blue Montana sky...
I said "Lady, we're too sober.
How `bout a little slug o'rye?"
She whispered hoarsely "Old Boston is better,"
and as I poured out my last drop of gin,
I saw her husband just coming to get her...
`Twas goodbye then, to old Wheeler Inn.