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I am a noted highwayman, |
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Cole Younger is my name; |
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'Tis deeds and desperation |
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that brought my name to shame. |
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Robbing of the Northfield bank is |
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a thing I'll never deny, |
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But which I will be sorry of |
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until the day I die. |
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We started for old Texas, |
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that grand old Lone Star State; |
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'Twas there on Nebraska prairies |
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the James Boys we did meet. |
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With knives, gun, and revolvers, |
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we all sit down to play |
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A game of good old poker |
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to pass the time away. |
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Across Nebraska prairies |
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a Denver train we spy. |
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I says to Bob, "We'll rob her |
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as she goes rolling by." |
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We saddled up our horses, |
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northwestward we did go |
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To the godforsaken country |
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called Minnie-soh-tee-oh. |
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I had my eye on the Northfield bank |
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when brother Bob did say, |
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"Cole, if you under-to-take the job, |
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you'll always curse the day." |
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We stationed out our pickets, |
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up to the bank did go, |
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'Twas there upon the counter, |
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boys, we struck our fatal blow. |
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Saying, "Hand us out your money, |
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sir, and make no long delay. |
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We are the noted Younger boys, |
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and spend no time in play." |
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The cashier, being as true as steel, |
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refused our noted band. |
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'Twas Jesse James that pulled the trigger |
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that killed this noble man. |
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We run for life, for death was near, |
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four hundred on our trail. |
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We soon was overtaken |
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and landed safe in jail. |
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'Twas there in the Stillwater jail we lay, |
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a-wearing our lives away. |
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Two James boys left to tell the tale |
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of the sad and fateful day. |
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|