Boxes of Pine

Oh the wind's blowin' bitter o'er these barren plains

The sweat from our palms now is froze to the reigns

And the saddlebag cash surely sets us at ease

But our hearts are still cold like these skeleton trees

We burnt down a man in the town left behind

There's fatherless family, we're fresh on their minds

Told 'em hands up, boy, he must've been dim

Cause he reached for his pistol, no Christmas for him

O, Holy night how them stars do brightly shine

Higgins Boys are still bloody around Christmas time