| Across the alley from the alamo
|
| Lived a pinto pony and a Navajo
|
| Who sang a sort of indian
|
| Hi-de-ho to the people passing by
|
| The pinto spent his time a swishin' flies
|
| And the Navajo watched the lazy skies
|
| And very rarely did they ever rest their eyes
|
| On the people passing by
|
| One day they went awalkin'
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| Along the railroad track
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| They were swishin', not lookin'
|
| Toot! |
| Toot!
|
| They never came back
|
| Across the alley from the alamo
|
| When the summer sun decides to settle low
|
| A fly sings an Indian
|
| Hi-de-ho to the people passing by
|
| Across the alley from the Alamo
|
| Lived a pinto pony and a Navajo
|
| Who used to bake frijoles
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| In cornmeal dough for the people passing by
|
| They tho’t that they would make some easy bucks
|
| If they’re washin' their frijoles in Duz and Lux
|
| A pair of very conscientious clucks
|
| To the people passing by
|
| Then they took this cheap vacation
|
| Their shoes were polished bright
|
| No they never heard the whistle
|
| Toot! |
| Toot!
|
| They’re clear out of sight
|
| Across the alley from the Alamo
|
| When the starlight beams it’s tender tender glow
|
| The beans go to sleep and there ain’t no dough
|
| For the people passing by |