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He was nine years old when his folks left home |
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On a wagon headin' west |
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And his mom and dad knew he'd grow up bad |
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By the mark of the devil on his chest |
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Seventeen he turned up mean |
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He had already made his bid |
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He had a name in the fast gun game |
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And they called him the "Devil Kid" |
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Now the kid's name grew and his gun did too |
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When an old ghost town appeared |
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Sittin' there in the marshall's chair |
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Was the one they called "Grey Beard" |
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"Kid, you better quit while the quittin's good |
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Cus there's always one that's bigger |
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There'll be one guy with a faster eye |
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Who's lightning on the trigger |
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Let me tell you, son, about a real fast gun |
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That every outlaw feared |
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He made his name in this killin' game |
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He's the one they call "Grey Beard" |
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He had a drawin' hand like no other man |
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It was faster than the eye |
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And there were always plenty of kids about twenty |
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Just couldn't wait to die |
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He was a fast gun |
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Lookin' to make a name |
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Quikin' was his virtue |
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Killin' was the game |
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So the kid said, "Tell me, |
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where is this man who never feared a gun?" |
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Grey Beard raised his head and said, |
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"Your looking at him, son." |
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So the kid tried staring Grey Beard down |
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With eyes like ace up dice |
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And Grey Beard's frown turned upside down |
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To a smile as cold as ice |
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So the Devil Kid reached for his gun |
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With a draw as fast as light |
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But he lost the game from a shot that came |
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From somewhere out of sight |
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And as the kid went down and he hit the ground |
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Thought he had lost his mind |
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He heard Grey Beard snicker |
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"I was even quicker before I went stone blind" |
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Fast gun |
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Lookin' to make a name |
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Quikin' was his virtue |
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He was killed at his game |