I've only known you for ten minutes But I'd prefer you didn't die just yet You're on a horse Your hands are tied And there's a rope around your neck One of them's good The other one's bad And you're no oil painting But you play the part of the holy rogue Dance along like the desert's your stage Your soul possess'd by the ghost of Stanislavski Eli Wallach Eli Wallach Through his silver tooth Before he shoots he speaks their epitaph Loose scripts and unsynched lips And he still makes us laugh Like when he wears his gun While he's in the bath (But for all of your laughter You're going crazy about this guy like he's your Zen master) I know! But inspiration's rare as gold Hidden in an unmarked grave You find a hero where you least expect it Mine's been in over fifty films And I'd have thought by now Somebody would have written a book about him Eli Wallach Eli Wallach I want adventure in my pocket Like Eli Wallach