In the southern part of Texas, near the town of San 
Antone,
Stands a fortress all in ruin that the weeds have 
overgrown.
You may look in vain for crosses and you'll never see a 
one,
But sometimes between the setting and the rising of the 
sun,
You can hear a ghostly bugle as the men go marching by;
You can hear them as they answer to that roll call in 
the sky:
Colonel Travis, Davy Crockett and a hundred eighty 
more;
Captain Dickenson, Jim Bowie, present and accounted 
for.

Back in 1836, Houston said to Travis:
"Get some volunteers and go fortify the Alamo."
Well, the men came from Texas and from old Tennessee,
And with them came Jones Mary just to fight for the 
right to be free.

Indian scouts with squirrel guns, men with muzzle 
loaders,
"You may never see your loved ones," Travis told them 
that day.
"Those that want to can leave now, those who'll fight 
to the death, let 'em stay."
One hundred and eighty five brave men holdin' back five 
thousand.
Five days, six days, eight days, ten; Travis held and 
held again.
Then he sent for replacements for his wounded and his 
lame,
But the troops that were comin' never came, never came, 
never came.
Twice he charged, then blew recall. On the fatal third 
time,
Santa Anna breached the wall and he killed them one and 
all.
Now the bugles are silent and there's rust on each 
sword,
And the small band of soldiers lie asleep in the arms 
of The Lord.
In the southern part of Texas, near the town of San 
Antone,stands a fortress all in ruin that the weeds 
have overgrown...