Spend the night with some sweet señorita,
Into her dark hall where she will lead you,
In some lonesome shadow she might greet you –
Billy, you're so doggone far away from home.
They say that Pat Garrett's got your number,
Sleep with one eye open when you slumber,
Every little sound just might be thunder,
Thunder from the barrel of his gun.
Maybe you will find yourself tomorrow
Drinking in some bar to hide your sorrow,
Spending the time that you borrowed,
Figuring a way to get back home.