Long ago he was abandoned

Never smiles and never chatters

Never quarrels or complains

Grown as hard as the Sierras

And the Western Plains

Learned to swing a broken bottle

Learned to use his fists and knife

In the bar rooms and bordellos

Of his life

He drifted down towards the borders

The sky was dark but it did not rain

Came the meanest pistoleros

In the Western Plains

He fell in with these desperadoes

Thieves and killers every one

Prizes hanging from their saddles

With their guns

Now he rides beside the Devil