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Here lies Les MooreFour slugs from a forty-fourNo Les no moreOut in Arizona, just south of TucsonWhere tumbleweeds tumble in search of a homeThere's a town they call TombstoneWhere the brave never cryThey live by a six-gun, by a six-gun they dieIt's been a long time now since the town was a boonThe jailhouse is empty, so's the Palace SaloonJust one look will tell you that this town was realA secluded old dirt road leads up to Boot HillWalk up to the fence there and look at the viewThat's where they were hangin', eighteen-eighty-twoIt's easy to see where the brave men diedRope marks on the old tree are now petrifiedAt night, when the moon shines so far awayIt gets mighty lonesome, lookin' down on their gravesThere lies Billy Klen; never wanted to killBut he's there with the guilty, way up on Boot Hill
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