Billy the Kid

Saddle guns in scabbards,

Pistols on saddle bow,

The boys were ridin’ for their lives —

The Kid en Alias Joe.

Thirty miles west of the Gila

They bade the posse good-bye,

For they could n’t keep up with the light-weight Kids,

Now matter how hard they'd try.

From the land of the Montezuma,

Past the hills of the Mogollons,

By night en day they made their way

Till they landed in Tombstone.

Those were frontier towns, old pardner;

’T was a game of take en give,

And the one who could draw the fastest

Was the only one who’d live.

Whiskey en women en poker,

Monte en Faro en Stud,

Just a short wild race, who’d keep the pace

Would land in a river of blood.

Fightin’ en drinkin’ en gamblin’,

Nigger en Mex en White;

’T was a riot of sin, let the best man win;

’T was drink, when called, or fight.

En every one claimed a woman,

Though none of their claims would stand

’Gainst the Kid, who was quicker’n lightning

With a gun in either hand.

Believing that John H. Tunstall

Was the man who was in the right,

He offered him his services

In the Lincoln County fight.

The Kid rode with Brewer’s posse

Who avenged John Tunstall’s loss,

Killing William Morton, en Baker

Roberts en Joe Ross.

Locked in the Dolan house in Lincoln,

Then used as a county jail,

Handcuffed en with a double guard,

Trailing a ball en chain,

He killed his guards, Bell en Olinger,

In the jail yard in daylight,

Stole the horse of the probate clerk

En on him made his flight.

Caught a-napping at last in Sumner,

In Pete Maxwell’s room one night,

Not knowing he was waylaid,

Not knowing with whom to fight;

A chance shot fired by Garrett,

A chance shot that found its mark;

’T was lucky for Pat the Kid showed plain,

While Garrett was hid in the dark.

If Garrett was game, I don’t know it;

He never appeared so to me;

If any of you fellows think so,

I'll refer you to Oliver Lee.