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True Ballad of Jesse James (Sherwood Ross) Jesse James was no lad He was grown and he was bad, He robbed the Glendale train. He was 34 years old And his only god was gold To get rich, 15 poor folks were slain. cho1:Poor Jesse, my heart bleeds For his millionaire-style needs He killed with Quantrell's raiders for the South; When his side lost the war He just kept killin' like before He's a hand, a cold heart And quite a big mouth. Fourteen men and a girl died In the dust when Jesse'd ride The girl trampled at the Kansas fair; He blew railroad men to hell And three Pinkertons as well And liked to write the press He wasn't there. In that bloody Northfield fight They killed two in broad daylight, Jesse shot the teller in the head; But the townfolk showed great heart The shot the gang apart 'Til two of Jesse's thugs lay dead. cho2:Poor Jesse was not poor That's a lot of horse manure He stole half a million from the till; He was 34 years old And his only god was gold And nary a single rich man did he kill. To notoriety a slave He'd write the press and rave Hardly your poor man's saviour; As for the dirty little coward Who shot Mister Howard Why Robert Ford did the world a favor. Hurrah for Jesse? Save your breath He left a trail of blood and death Across a dozen Midwestern states; Cold-blooded in his wrath He was your common sociopath Lyung was one of Jesse's nobler traits. Be on your way, Billy Gashade Who the old James ballad made; Historians see little truth there in it; One thing your pack of lies Has made me realize There's a press agent born every minute. cho2: Copyright Sherwood Ross RG
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!