Pat And Billy The Kid Poem by Smoky Hoss

Billy the Kid they say
was far away that fateful day,
when at Fort Sumner
Pat Garrett did his little show stopping number.
A bullit fired in the dark
pierced the wrong heart,
no matter to old Pat
he was just polishing up his act.
It was only fame he was after
so kill it must be, not capture,
Pat went on tour, wrote a book
and an ignorant culture took the hook.
He made his name
got his fame,
sought his financial end
at the cost of a former friend.
Glory though, like youth, goes by fast
it all caught up with Pat at the last,
he stepped out of a carriage one night
and like his victims was gunned down without a fight.
Poetic justice some would say
but to ol' Billy laughing, it didn't matter much anyway.
For he'd gone over to Gallop
to live with his senorita, the trollop,
changed his name and his stride
moved his pistol to the right side,
grew a beard and took to clerking
said thank you and please to all, while working.
He went straight home every afternoon
strolled right on past the town's saloon,
up the walk and through the door
right into his sweet and pretty little whore.
Some say it's a damn shame,
but Billy couldn't a been happier
living there all peaceful and content with his brand new name.

Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid were meant to be,
their names connected for all eternity.
One was looking for fame, the other for fun,
both sought it down the barrel of a loaded gun.
Together they became a part of history,
a perfect combination of limelight and mystery.
Pat meet his fate while, in the dark, taking a piss,
Billy threw away his dirty gun and said
to hell with all of this.
Pat went six-feet below,
Billy and his gal went quietly down to old Mexico.
Pat's dream ended in a shatter,
Billy went on anonymously living happily ever after.
Pat and Billy, names forever bound tight,
Pat and Billy, different as day and night.