I'll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid,
And tell of the desperate deeds that he did,
Out here in the West, boys, in New Mexico,
When a man's best friend was his old Forty-four.
When Billy the Kid was a very young lad,
In old Silver City, he went to be bad;
At twelve years of age the Kid killed his first man,
Then blazed a wide trail with a gun in each hand.
Fair Mexican maidens played soft on guitars
And sang of "Billito" their king 'neath the stars;
He was a brave lover, and proud of his fame,
And no man could stand 'gainst the Kid's deadly aim.
Now Billy ranged wide, his killings were vile;
He shot fast, and first, when his blood got a-rile,
And, 'fore his young manhood did reach its sad end,
His six-guns held notches for twenty-one men.
Then Gov'ner Lew Wallace sent word to the Kid
to ride in and talk, for a pardon to bid:
But Billy said: "I ain't a-feerd of the law;
There's no man a-livin' can beat me to the draw!"
The Gov'ner then sent for another fast man:
Pat Garrett, the sheriff, and told of a plan
To catch Billy napping at his gal's; so he said:
"We'll bring him to Justice: alive or plumb dead!"
"Twas on that same night, into town Billy rid,
And said: "Mis amigos, all hark to the Kid!
There's twenty-one men I have put bullets through
And Sheriff, Pat Garrett, must make twenty-two!"
Now this is how Billy the Kid met his fate:
The bright moon was shining, the hour was late;
To Pete Maxwell's place Billy went in all pride,
Not knowing the dark hid the Sheriff inside.
As Billy show'd plain in the moon-lighted door,
He fell in his tracks, and laid dead on the floor;
Shot down by Pat Garrett, who one was his friend,
Young Billy, the Outlaw, and his life did end!
There's many a young boy with fine face and air
That starts in his life with the chances all fair;
But, like young Billito, he wanders astray
And departs his life in the same hardful way!
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