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I would like to tell you the story of how I came to be segundo to my good friend Pancho Villa and how I was the inventor of those marvelous horse poop cigarettes that you can buy today in many Mexican border towns.
I first met Pancho when his raiders robbed a train that carried me and my fellow members of a traveling mariachi band. Pancho, he forced us to play for him at gunpoint. He did not like the playing of my compadres, and he shot them each once in the leg. He liked the sound of my guitarrón, and he forced me to join his bandidaje.
Pancho, he rode a fine horse, which he had stolen from General Huerta. Me, I was forced to run alongside. I ran all the way back to Ciudad de Juarez, the town where my band had just played and where Pancho had taken over a large hacienda. I was not happy to see that town again because they had not liked the playing of my mariachi band either.
That night Pancho, he made me play for him while he entertained several beautiful senioritas. I was very tired from running all day, but I continued to play for him.
When it was nearly morning Pancho, he said to me: "you must go and steal a horse if you are going to ride with my gang." I reluctantly set down my guitarrón and went out into the night. I returned to the hacienda when the sun was overhead with a fine, spirited mule that I named Pepe.
Pancho's men just laughed and laughed when they saw me riding Pepe. They said to me: "hey boy, what is that you are riding; it looks like a goat!" Me, I did not care that they laughed. At least I would not have to run.
The weeks and months seemed to go by quickly as we rode from town to town, robbing their banks and being chased by those American soldiers. I grew to love my mule Pepe, but I was worried about him. He always liked to eat the loco weed, and then he would stagger around like a drunken man. Pancho's men would laugh and laugh. They said to me: "why don't you trade in that crazy goat for a horse?"
Then there was the time that we were about to raid the town of Boquillas. We were camped that night at our usual place a few miles outside of the town. Pancho, he started yelling and cussing. He said: "gosh darnit I'm all out of tobacco!" He kicked this one poor fellow who was sleeping by the fire and told him to give him some tobacco or he was going to shoot him between the eyes. That boy, he just started sweating and shaking and fumbling around in his bag. Me, I knew that boy didn't have any tobacco because I never did see him smoking.
I thought I must do something to save this poor boy, but all I had was my rolling papers. I think maybe the whole camp was out of tobacco, and Pancho, he had a mean temper. He was going to shoot somebody for sure. Suddenly, into my head came an idea and I went to find my mule Pepe. Sure enough there he was munching on his favorite patch of loco weed. And fortunately, there was some old dried poop from Pepe's last visit. I quickly rolled a smoke for my friend Pancho.
Pancho, he just laughed and laughed.
And that is how I became segundo to my good friend Pancho Villa.
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