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Billy the |
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Kid In the southern part of |
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Texas, east and west of |
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El Paso, Where the mighty |
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Franklin Mountains guard the trail to |
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Mexico. There's a new made widow cryin' and a hearse a-rollin slow, |
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And I guess that |
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Devil's passed this way again. |
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Theres a lathered sorrel stallion runnin through the |
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Joshua Trees, |
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A young man in the saddle with his coat tails in the breeze. |
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Got a six gun on his right hip and a rifle at his knee, |
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And he's dealin in a game that he can't win. |
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CHORUS: Poor |
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Billy Bonney, youre only twenty-one, |
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Pat Garrett's got your name on every bullet in his gun. |
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Each notch you carved on your six-gun's got a bloody tale to tell |
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You're a mile ahead of |
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Garrett, and a step outside of hell. |
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Them fancy clothes you're wearin' and the women in your bed, |
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Can't take away the faces of the men that you left dead. |
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As you ride across the badland with a price upon your head, |
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Now that wheel of fortune starts to turn. |
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Your reputation's grown till it's the biggest in the land, |
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And there aint a lot of people left who'd wanna call your hand. |
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And I guess you'll go down shootin' just like all branded men, |
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And when you shake hands with the |
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Devil you get burned. |
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CHORUS x 2 |
