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In the southern part of Texas, east and west of El Paso |
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Where the mighty Franklin Mountains guard the trail to Mexico |
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There's a new-made widow crying and a hearse a-rollin' slow |
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I guess the devil's passed this way again. |
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There's a lathered sorrel stallion running through the Joshua trees |
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And a young man in the saddle with his coat tails in the breeze. |
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He's got a six gun on his right hip and a rifle at his knees |
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And he's dealing in a game that he can't win. |
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Poor Billy Bonney, you're only 21, |
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Pat Garrett's got your name on every bullet in his gun. |
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Every notch you carve on your six gun |
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Has a bloody tale to tell. |
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You're a mile ahead of Garrett and a step outside of Hell. |
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Those fancy clothes you're wearin' and the women in your bed |
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Can't take away the traces of the men that you've left dead |
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As you ride across the badlands with a price upon your head |
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And now the Wheel of Fortune starts to turn. |
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Your reputation's grown 'til it's the biggest in the land |
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And there ain't a lot of people left who want to call your hand |
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And I guess you'll go down shootin' and like all branded men |
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When you shake hands with the devil you get burned. |
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Poor Billy Bonney, you're only 21, |
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Pat Garrett's got your name on every bullet in his gun. |
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Every notch you carve on your six gun |
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Has a bloody tale to tell. |
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You're a mile ahead of Garrett and a step outside of Hell. |
