The Killer: Lyrics

Words: Originally published in Wild West Weekly, Street and Smith; Music: Cisco Houston

• LP Sings American Folksongs
• CD The Folkways Years

Dobe Bill, he went a-riding
   through the canyon, in the glow
Of a quiet Sunday morning
   from the town of Angelo;
Ridin' easy on that pinto
   that he dearly loved to straddle,
With a six-gun and sombrero
   that was wider than his saddle
And he's hummin' as he's goin'
   of a simple little song
That's a-boomin' through the cactus
   as he's gallopin' along:

  "Oh, I've rid from San Antony
     through the mesquite and the sand
  I'm a rarin', flarin' bucko,
     not afraid to play my hand.
  Well, I'm a hootin', shootin' demon
     and to have my little fun
  On my pinto called Apache
     and Adolphus---that's my gun."

Well straight to Santa Fe he drifted,
   and he mills around the town
Sorta gittin' of his bearin's
   as he pours his liquor down
But he's watchin', always watchin',
   every hombre in the place,
Like he's mebbe sorta lookin'
   for some certain hombre's face.

Then one night he saunters careless
   to the place of Monte Sam
And he does a bit of playin'
   like he doesn't give a damn.
Then all at once it's hushed and quiet,
   like a calm before the blow,
And the crowd is tense and nervous,
   and the playin stopped and slow.

At the bar a man is standin',
   sneerin' as his glances lay,
Like a challenge did he fling 'em,
   darin' 'em to make the play.
Two-Gun Blake, the Texas killer,
   hated, feared wherever known
Stood and drank his glass of mescal
   with assurance all his own.

Then the eyes of Blake, the killer,
   met the glance of Dobe Bill
And they held each one the other
   with the steel of looks that kill,
Then the tones of Blake came slowly,
   with a sneer in every word
"Well, you've found me!"
   But the other gave no sign he saw or heard.

Walkin' calmly toward the speaker,
   he advanced with steady pace
Then he grinned, and quick as lightnin',
   slapped him squarely in the face.
"Shoot, you snake!" he whispered hoarsely.
   "Shoot, you lily-livered cur!"
"Draw! You're always strong for killin';
   now I'm here to shoot for her!"

Some there was that claimed they saw it,
   as the killer tried to draw
But there's no one knows for certain
   just exactly what he saw;
I'll agree the shootin' started
   quick as Blake had made his start ---
Then a brace of bullets hit him
   fair and certain through the heart.

As he fell, his hand was graspin'
   for the gun he'd got too late
With the notches on it showin'
   like the vagaries of fate.
And the man who stood there lookin'
   at the killer as he lay
Murmured: "Nell, I've kept my promise.
   I have made that scoundrel pay!"

Then Dobe Bill, he went a-ridin'
   from the town of Santa Fe
On a quiet Sunday morning,
   goin' happy on his way,
Ridin' easy on that pinto
   that he dearly loved to straddle
With a six-gun and sombrero
   that was wider than his saddle,

And he's a hummin' as he's goin'
   of a simple little song
That's a-boomin' through the cactus
   as he's gallopin' along:

  "Oh, I'm goin' down the canyon,
     through the mesquite and the sand
  I'm a rarin', flarin' bucko,
     not afraid to play my hand.
  Well I'm a rootin', shootin' demon
     and I have my little fun
  On my pinto called Apache, a-ha,
     and Adolphus---that's my gun."

Of note:

So Dr. Guy doesn't think this is an "authentic" cowboy song. So what? It is funny, tidy, well-performed and perfectly balanced. The scoundrel pays. What more could you want?

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