Dobe Bill, he went a-riding through the canyon, in the glow
Of a quiet Sunday morning from the town of Angelo
Riding easy on that pinto that he dearly loved to straddle
With a six-gun and sombrero that was wider than his saddle

And he's humming as he's going of a simple little song
That's a-booming through the cactus as he's galloping along

"Oh, I've rid from San Antony through the mesquite and the sand
I'm a raring, flaring bucko, not afraid to play my hand
Well, I'm a hooting, shooting demon and to have my little fun
On my pinto called Apache and Adolphus, that's my gun

Well, straight to Santa Fe he drifted, and he mills around the town
Sorta gitting of his bearings as he pours his liquor down
But he's watching, always watching, every hombre in the place
Like he's mebbe sorta looking for some certain hombre's face

Then one night he saunters careless to the place of Monte Sam
And he does a little playing like he doesn't give a damn
Then all at once it's hushed and quiet like a calm before the blow
And the crowd is tense and nervous,and the playing stopped and slow

At the bar a man is standing, sneering as his glances lay
Like a challenge did he fling 'em, daring 'em to make the play
Two-Gun Blake, the Texas killer, hated, feared wherever known
Stood and drank his glass of mescal with assurance all his own

Then the eyes of Blake, the killer, met the glance of Dobie Bill
And they held each one the other with the steel of looks that kill
Then the tones of Blake came slowly with a sneer in every word
"Well, you've found me!" but the other gave no sign he saw or heard

Walking calmly for the speaker, he advanced with steady pace
Then he grinned, and quick as lightning slapped him squarely in the face
"Shoot, you snake!" he whispered hoarsely, "Shoot, you lily-livered cur!
Draw! You're always strong for killing,  now I'm here to shoot for her!"

Some there was that claimed they saw it as the killer tried to draw
But there's no one knows for certain just exactly what he saw
I'll agree the shooting started quick as Blake had made his start
Then a brace of bullets hit him fair and certain through the heart

As he fell his hand was grasping for that gun he'd got too late
With the notches on it showing like the vagaries of fate
And the man who stood there looking  at the killer as he lay
Murmured, "Nell, I've kept my promise, I have made that scoundrel pay!"

Then Dobie Bill, he went a-riding from the town of Santa Fe
On a quiet Sunday morning, going happy on his way
Riding easy on that pinto that he dearly loved to straddle
With a six-gun and sombrero that was wider than his saddle

And he's a humming as he's going of a simple little song
That's a-booming through the cactus as he's galloping along

"Oh, I'm going down the canyon through the mesquite and the sand
I'm a raring, flaring bucko,  not afraid to play my hand.
Well, I'm a rooting, shooting demon and I have my little fun
On my pinto called Apache, a-ha!, and Adolphus, that's my gun