| Now back in old Wyoming many long years ago
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| When there was no law and order round to regulate the show
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| Those old Wyoming ranchers had a problem on their hands
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| Trying to keep the cow thieves and the rustlers off their land
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| Now old Tom Horn came a riding up one day
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| Gonna lend a hand to the cattlemen in his own peculiar way
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| Well he took his 44−40 out and cleaned it up right well
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| Then he rode off down Dry Gulch with a sack of rifle shells
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| Old Tom Horn with a rifle by his side through the hills of Wyoming he would ride
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| There ain’t no tellin' how many cattle thieves he killed
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| But it was God help the rustler when Tom Horn was in the hill
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| If you rode the Larame Valley by either day or night
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| You can be right sure he’s watchin' you through his rifle sights
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| He laid out in the bushes and the rustler come around
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| Then he’ll spill the boy with a single shot and chamber one more round
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| Now the rustlers tried to stop him but they found there was no way
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| He could pick them off from a mountain side a half mile away
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| Well they ran him down the border but they never touched his hide
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| He just slipped across to his hide out on the Colorado side
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| Old Tom Horn with a rifle…
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| Then one day young Willie Nickle was out a ridin' around
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| A 44−40 shot rang out and laid the poor boy down
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| Well it was only fourteen years since that little kid was born
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| And they said it looked like the doing’s of that lonesome Tom Horn
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| So the cattlemen went and strung him up with a length of fresh snipped rope
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| But his ghost still hangs out in the hills and spooks the Antelope
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| Now all the rustlers hatred and all the cattlemen’s fears
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| Have keep all Tom Horn alive through all the changing years
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| Old Tom Horn with a rifle… |