| Was a wild black stallion we caught near Durango
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| That little black beauty was fast as a gun
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| We set him to racing, the pride of the family
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| We bet all our money, we cried when he won
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| That man Mr. Watson don’t take kind to losing
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| Accused us of stealing, he told the whole town
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| Then late in the night he killed that old stallion
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| And left us a looking for a new one to crown
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| Beyond the ridge, there’s always a valley
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| With free roaming horses that wait to be tamed
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| We thought it was over, but old Mr. Watson
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| Just couldn’t seem to let a sleeping dog li
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| They shot down my brother, arrestd two others
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| Gave us no choice but to fight for our lives
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| Oh the years to follow, I’d wish them on no one
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| Shootouts and posses and life on the run
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| But along the way, I met your dear mother
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| Warm as the glow from the midsummer sun
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| Beyond the ridge, there’s always a valley
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| With free roaming horses that wait to be tamed
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| I killed my first man and one led to another
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| A long line of killing that can’t be undone
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| And along the way, I lost all my brothers
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| I’m the last one to die, the last on the run
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| Up here on the mountain, the posse pursuing
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| The lead from their bullets, the pain in my side
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| I might never meet you, so I wrote you this letter
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| It’s looking like this could be my final ride
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| Beyond the ridge, there’s always a valley
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| With free roaming horses that wait to be tamed
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| Be good on your word, take care of your mother
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| And most of all son, be proud of your name |