| Me and the boy’s we cinched up our saddles
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| And rode to Sonora last night
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| Gun’s hanging proud, daring out loud
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| For anyone looking to fight
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| Card cheats and rustlers would run for their holes
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| When the boys from the old broken O
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| Rode up and reined on the street that they named
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| Sonora’s death row
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| Mescal is free at Amanda’s saloon
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| For the boy’s from the old broken O
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| Saturday nights in the town of Sonora
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| Are the best in all Mexico
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| They’ve got guitars and trumpets and sweet senoritas
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| Who won’t want to let you go
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| You’d never believe such a gay happy time
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| On the street called Sonora’s death row
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| Inside Amanda’s we was a dancin'
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| With all of Amanda’s gals
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| I won some silver at seven card stud
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| So I was out doin' my pals
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| But the whiskey and mescal, peso cigars
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| Drove me outside for some air
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| Somebody whispered, «Your life or your money
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| I reached, but my gun wasn’t there»
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| I woke up face down in Amanda’s back alley
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| Aware of the fool I had been
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| Rushed to my pony, grabbed my Winchester
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| And entered Amanda’s again
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| Where I saw my partners twirling my pistols
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| And throwing my money around
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| Blinded by anger, I jacked the lever
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| And one of them fell to the ground
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| Amanda’s got silent like night in the desert
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| My friends stared in pure disbelief
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| Amanda was kneeling beside the dead cowboy
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| Plainly expressing her grief
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| And as I bowed my head a trembled shot through me
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| My six-gun was still at my side
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| I felt my pockets, there was my money
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| I fell to my knees and I cried
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| A nightmare of mescal is all that it was
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| For no one had robbed me at all
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| I wish I was dreaming the sound of the gallows
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| They’re testing just outside the wall
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| And the mescal’s still free at Amanda’s saloon
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| For the boy’s from the old broken O
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| I’d give a ransom to drink there today
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| Be free of Sonora’s death row
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| Yes I’d give a ransom to drink there today
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| Be free of Sonora’s death row |