| Not long ago in a one-horse town
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| Down south of Santa Fe
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| A one-eyed half-breed amputee
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| Sat thinkin' of the way
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| He’d settle the score with that runnin' sore
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| Who had left him the way he is
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| One-armed, half-blind and crippled in his mind
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| And he, that amputee, could not forgive
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| He swore to kill the stranger
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| For this one bad thing he’d done
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| For three long years he’d practised
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| Until he could use the gun
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| Heart of stone, he lived alone
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| And he lived on beans and eggs
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| Folks could tell what time it was
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| By the gravy running down his legs
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| Bad blood will drive you crazy
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| Bad blood, I’ve heard men say
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| Bad blood is like an egg stain on your chin
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| You can lick it but it still won’t go away
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| Four more years he roamed the land
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| 'Til his legs was worn away
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| Then he bummed around from town to town
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| «Has a stranger passed this way?
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| The man I’m lookin' for has two eyes
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| But he’s a one-breed dirty dog
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| When I find him I’m gonna shoot him!
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| Don’t you laugh at me!
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| Man, I’m really pissed.»
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| The stagecoach jingle-jangled into town
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| One hot mid-afternoon
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| He saw the stranger get off near
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| The Seborrhea Saloon
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| And just as he was easin' in
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| A lumberjack rolled out
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| And shot him dead then One-eye said:
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| «Hey you, mutton-head, I’ve been lookin' for that particular son-of-a-bitch for
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| nearly seven years, man! |
| You’ve just spoiled everything! |
| I could have been a
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| doctor or an architect!»
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| Bad blood will drive you crazy
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| Bad blood, I’ve heard men say
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| Bad blood is like an egg stain on your chin
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| You can lick it but it still won’t go away |