6    6    -6  6 5    -4   5  -5 6  -5  -4 
I?ll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid, 

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I?ll sing of some desperate deeds that he did, 

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Way out in New Mexi-co long long a-go, 

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When a- man's on-ly chance, 

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Was his old forty-four. 

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When Billy the Kid was a ve-ry young lad, 

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In old Silver City he went to the bad. 

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Way out in the West with a gun in his hand, 

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At the age of twelve years, 

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He did kill his first man. 

There's Mexican maidens play guitars and sing, 
Songs about Billy, their boy bandit king. 
?Ere his young manhood has reached his sad end, 
With a notch an his pistol for twenty one men! 
Was on a sad night when poor Billy died, 
He said to his friend, "I'm not satisfied, 
These twenty one men I have put bullets through, 
Sheriff Pat Garrett must make twenty two!" 

I?ll sing you how Billy the Kid met his fate, 
The bright moon was shinin', the hour was late, 
Shot down by Pat Garrett who once was his friend, 
The young outlaw's life is now come to an end. 
There's many a man with a face fine and fair, 
Who start out in life with a chance to be square. 
Just like poor Billy they wander astray, 
They'll lose their lives in the very same way.