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I'll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid |
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I'll sing of the desperate deeds that he did |
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Way out in New Mexico, long long ago |
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When a man's only chance was his own 44 |
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When Billy, the kid was a very young lad |
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In the old Silver City, he went to the bad |
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Way out in the West with a gun in his hand |
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At the age of twelve years, he first killed his man |
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Fair Mexican maidens play guitars and sing |
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A song about Billy, the boy bandit king |
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How ere his young manhood had reached its sad end |
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He'd a notch on his pistol for twenty-one men |
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'Twas on the same night when poor Billy died |
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He said to his friends, "I am not satisfied |
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There are twenty-one men I have put bullets through |
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And sheriff Pat Garrett must make twenty-two" |
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Now this is how Billy, the kid met his fate |
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The bright moon was shining, the hour was late |
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Shot down by Pat Garrett who once was his friend |
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The young outlaw's life had now come to its end |
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There's many a man with a face fine and fair |
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Who starts out in life with a chance to be square |
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But just like poor Billy, he wanders astray |
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And loses his life in the very same way |