One friend, a good horse, and a woman,
A rope that wonít break in a pinch.
A saddle tree, hand wrapped in bullhide,
A handwoven Angoran cinch....
And one of the Colonelís good six-guns-
A hair-triggered Coltís forty four-
A load that wonít fail when your backís to the wall
And a man just might live evermore.
One friend who will always stand with you
Whether youíre right or youíre wrong...
A woman to love you forever-
In spite of your on-going song...
A horse which will give his best effort,
In helping you outrun the law-
And a gun which will add that split-second
Each time that a man has to draw.
All these, and a payroll in Prescott-
The Overland, near Santa Fe-
A bank job just over in Lordsburg-
This is the highwaymanís way.
Iím singing the Song of the Bandit,
Iím singing it soft and so low..
Preparing to go forth to danger,
I sing it where ever I go.
Low and forlorn it may strike you,
A dirge thatís portending my death
Yet it is the tune of my choosing
Iíll sing it while I yet draw breath.