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Well gather round me children |
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A story I will tell |
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About Pretty Boy Floyd, the outlaw |
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Homer knew him well |
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He was in the town of Shawnee on Saturday afternoon |
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His wife decided in a wagon and into town they rode |
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And along come a deputy sheriff |
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In a manner rather rude |
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Using vulgar words of language |
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His wife, she overheard |
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Then Pretty Boy Floyd grabbed a long chain |
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The deputy grabbed a gun |
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And in the fight that followed |
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He laid that deputy down |
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And he ran through the trees and bushes |
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He lived a life of shame |
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Every crime in oklahoma, was added to his name |
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He ran through trees and bushes |
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On the Canadian river shore |
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And many starving farmer opened up his door |
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Was in oklahoma city, it was on a Christmas Day |
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A car load of groceries with a letter that did say |
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You say that I'm an outlaw, you say that I'm a thief |
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Well, here's a Christmas dinner for |
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The families on relief |
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As through this life you travel |
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You meet some funny men |
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Some will rob you with a six-gun |
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And some with a fountain pen |
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As through this life you ramble |
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As through this life you roam |
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You'll never see an outlaw |
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Take a family from your home |