| Towns sprung up across the plain
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| But soon the desperados came
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| And gunshot echoed in the streets
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| In a western town that mushroamed along the great frontier
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| Was mostly honest folks that came to stay
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| But law was slow in comin' and the bad men soon appereared
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| Flockin' in like vultures to the prey
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| Those that tried to stop them in their pillage of the town
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| Bit the dust of Main Street one by one
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| Till no one had the courage to step forward fom the rest
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| And volunteer to wear a silver target on his chest
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| The town sent for a Ranger to stop the lawless breed
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| Men who bragged of killin’s they had done
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| The bad men heard them threaten but they laughed and paid no heed
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| For who would dare to face their deadly guns
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| It only made them bolder and the terror grew and grew
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| Till one day the Ranger reached the town
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| The bad men saw him comin' and they spoke in vulgar jest
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| One of the quiet man who wore a silver target on his chest
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| In the noonday sun a panic had hit the dusty street
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| But from every window they all saw
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| The showdown soon was comin' and the odds he had to beat
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| With four to one against the Ranger’s draw
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| Then sudden death cut loose and when the smoke had cleared away
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| The outlaws lay there dyin' in the street
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| But a scarlet stain was spreadin' in the center of the West
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| Of the quiet man who wore a silver target on his chest
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| His name is not recorded in the book of history
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| But on a marble stone you still can read
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| Here lies a man who figured in the winnin' of the West
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| A quiet man who wore a silver target on his chest |