| In the southern part of Texas, east and west of El Paso
|
| Where the mighty Franklin Mountains guard the trail to Mexico
|
| Theres a new made widow cryin' and a hearse a-rollin slow
|
| And I guess that Devil’s passed this way again
|
| Theres a lathered sorrel stallion runnin through the Joshua Trees
|
| A young man in the saddle with his coat tails in the breeze
|
| Got a six gun on his right hip and a rifle at his knee
|
| And he’s dealin' in a game that he can’t win
|
| Poor Billy Bonney, you’re only twenty-one
|
| Pat Garrett’s got your name on every bullet in his gun
|
| Each notch you carved on your six-gun's got a bloody tale to tell
|
| Well, you’re a mile ahead of Garrett and a step outside of hell
|
| Them fancy clothes you’re wearin' and the women in your bed
|
| Can’t take away the faces of the men that you left dead
|
| As you ride across the badlands with a price upon your head
|
| Now that wheel of fortune starts to turn
|
| Your reputation’s grown 'til its the biggest in the land
|
| And there ain’t a lot of people left who wanna call your hand
|
| And I guess you’ll go down shootin' just like all branded men
|
| And when you shake hands with the Devil you get burned
|
| Poor Billy Bonney, you’re only twenty-one
|
| Pat Garrett’s got your name on every bullet in his gun
|
| Each notch you carved on your six-gun's got a bloody tale to tell
|
| Well, you’re a mile ahead of Garrett and a step outside of hell
|
| Poor Billy Bonney, you’re only twenty-one
|
| Pat Garrett’s got your name on every bullet in his gun
|
| Each notch you carved on your six-gun's got a bloody tale to tell
|
| You’re a mile ahead of Garrett and a step outside of hell |