Billy the Kid

As published by D. K. Wilgus in his article “The Individual Song: ‘Billy the Kid’”

I’ll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid, I’ll sing of the desperate deeds that he did; Way out in New Mexico long, long ago When a man’s only chance was an old forty-four.

When Billie [sic] the Kid was a very young lad Out in Silver City, he went to the bad; Way out in the West with a gun in his hand— Altho but twelve years old, he killed his first man.

Fair Mexican Maidens play guitars and sing A song about Billie their boy-bandit king; How ere [sic] his young manhood would reach it’s sad end Had a notch on his pistol for twenty-one men.

On the very same night when poor Billie had died— He said to his friends, I am not satisfied There were twenty-one men I have put bullets through And Sheriff Pat Garrett must make twenty-two.

Now this is how Billie the Kid met his fate, The bright moon was shining, the hour was late— Shot down by Pat Garrett who once was his friend, The young outlaw’s life had now come to its end.

Down in Pecos Valley all covered with green Out in “Hell’s Half-Acre” three graves can be seen; Where Tommie and Charlie and Billie now lie, Their trail of blood ended, they all had to die.

There’s many a man with a face fine and fair Who starts out in life with a chance to be square; But just like poor Billie, he wanders astray, And loses his life in the very same way.

Published in Henry Herbet Knibbs’ 1930 book, Songs of the Lost Frontier.

No man in the West ever won such renown As young Billy Bonney of Santa Fe town And of all the wild outlaws that met a bad end None so quick with a pistol or true to a friend

It was in Silver city his first trouble came A man called Billy’s mother a very foul name Billy swore to get even, his chance it came soon When he stabbed that young man in Joe Dyer’s saloon

He kissed his poor mother and fled from the scene A bold desperado and not yet fifteen He hid in a sheep-camp but short was his stay For he stole a pony and rode far away

At monte and faro he next took a hand And lived in Tuscon on the fat of the land But the game was too easy, the life was too slow So he drifted alone into Old Mexico

It was not very long before Billy came back With a notch in his gun and some gold in a sack He struck for the Pecos his comrades to see Abd they all rode to Lincoln and went on a spree

There he met his friend Tunstall and hired as a hand To fight with the braves of the Jingle-bob brand Then Tunstall was murdered and left in his gore To avenge that foul murder Young Billy he swore

First Morton and Baker he swiftly did kill Then he slaughtered Bill Robers at Blazer’s sawmill Sheriff Brady and Hindman in Lincoln he slew Then he rode to John Chisum’s along with his crew

There he stood off a posse and drove them away In McSween’s house in Lincoln he made his next play Surrounded he fought till the house was burned down But he dashed through the flames and escaped from the town

Young Billy rode north and young Billy rode south He plundered and killed with a smile on his mouth But he always came back to Fort Sumner again For his Mexican sweetheart was living there then

His trackers were many, they followed him fast In Arroyo Tiván he was captured at last He was taken to Lincoln and put under guard And sentenced to hang in the old court-house yard

J. Bell and Bob Ollinger watched day and night xxxc Young Billy gave Ollinger scarcely a glance But sat very still and awaited his chance

One day he played cards with J. Bell in the room Who had no idea how close was his doom Billy slipped off a handcuff, hit Bell on the head Then he snatched for the pistol and shot him down dead

Bob Ollinger heard and he ran to the spot To see what had happened and who had been shot Young Billy looked down from a window and fired Bob Ollinger sank to the ground and expired

Then Young Billy escaped on a horse that was near As he rode forth from Lincoln he let out a cheer Though his foes they were many he feared not a-one So long as a cartridge remained in his gun

But his comrades were dead or had fled from the land It was up to Young Billy to play a lone hand And Sheriff Pat Garrett he searched far and wide Never thinking the Kid in Fort Sumner would hide

But when Garrett heard Billy was hiding in town He went to Pete Maxwell’s when the sun had gone down The door was wide open, the night it was hot So Pat Garrett walked in and sat down by Pete’s cot

Young Billy had gone for to cut him some meat No hat on his head and no boots on his feet When he saw two strange men on the porch in the gloom He pulled his gun quick and backed into the room

Billy said, “Who is that?” and he spoke Maxwell’s name Then from pat Garrett’s pistol the answer it came The swift, cruel bullet went true to its mark And Young Billy fell dead on the floor in the dark

So young Billy Bonney he came to his end Shot down by Pat Garrett who once was his friend Though for coolness and courage both gunmen rank high It was Fate that decided Young Billy should die

Each year of his life was a notch on his gun For twenty-one years he had slain twenty-one His grave is unmarked and by desert sands hid And so ends the true story of Billy the Kid

Published in John A. and Alan Lomax’s 1938 collection, Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads. According to Jim Tinsley in his 1981 book, He Was Singin’ This Song, Lomax received the ballad from a former student, who received it from Jim Marby of Tuscon, AZ.

Billy was a bad man
And carried a gun
He was always after Greasers
And kept ‘em on the run

He shot one every morning
For to make his morning meal
And let a white man sass him
He was shore [sic] to feel his steel

He kept folks in hot water
And he stole from many a stage
And when he was full of liquor
He was always in a rage

But one day he met a man
Who was a whole lot badder
And now he’s dead
And we ain’t none the sadder