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From a town known as Wheeling, West Virginia |
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Rode a boy with a six-gun in his hand |
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And his daring life of crime |
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Made him a legend in his time |
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East and west of the Rio Grande |
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Well, he started with a bank in Colorado |
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In the pocket of his vest, a Colt he hid |
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And his age and his size |
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Took the teller by surprise |
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And the word spread of Billy the Kid |
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Well, he never traveled heavy |
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Yes, he always rode alone |
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And he soon put many older guns to shame |
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And he never had a sweetheart |
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And he never had a home |
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But the cowboy and the rancher knew his name |
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Well, he robbed his way from Utah to Oklahoma |
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And the law just could not seem to track him down |
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And it served his legend well |
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For the folks, they'd love to tell |
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'Bout when Billy the Kid came to town |
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Well, one cold day a posse captured Billy |
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And the judge said, 'String 'im up for what he did!' |
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And the cowboys and their kin |
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Like the sea came pourin' in |
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To watch the hangin' of Billy the Kid |
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Well, he never traveled heavy |
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Yes, he always rode alone |
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And he soon put many older guns to shame |
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And he never had a sweetheart |
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But he finally found a home |
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Underneath the boothill grave that bears his name |
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From a town known as Oyster Bay, Long Island |
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Rode a boy with a six-pack in his hand |
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And his daring life of crime |
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Made him a legend in his time |
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East and west of the Rio Grande |