Slip Jigs and Reels --- Steve Tilston

 

He was [A]barely a [E]man in his [A]grandfather’s [D]coat,
Sewn [A]into the [D]lining a [E]ten-shilling [A]note.
Good-[A]bye to the [E]family, fare-[A]well to the [D]shore,
‘Til [A]I taste good [D]fortune you’ll [E]see me no  [A]more.
Now the [A]boat on the [E]ocean, it [A]tossed like a [D]cork,
[A]Then one fine [D]morning they [E]sighted New [A]York..
And he [A]stood on the [E]gangplank and [A]breathed in the [D]air,
“Hel-[A]lo land of [D]plenty, I’ve [E]come for my [A]share.” 

[chorus] And he [A]did like the [E]ladies, the [A]rise and the [D]fall,
              Of their [A]ankles and [E]dresses down [A]on the dance [E]floor,
              And the [A]roll of the [E]dice and the [A]spin of the [D]wheel.
              But he [A]took most delight in the [E]slip jigs and [A]reels. 

There’s [A]talk of a [E]pistol and [A]some say a [D]knife,
But [A]all are a-[D]greed there was [E]somebody’s [A]wife.
Some [A]kind of com-[E]motion, a [A]terrible [D]fight,
He [A]left a man [D]dead and ran [E]into the [A]night.
On a [A]train to Saint [E]Louis, just [A]one jump a-[D]head,
He [A]slept one eye [D]open, a [E]six-gun in [A]bed.
He [A]dreampt of the [E]mountains and [A]green fields of [D]home,
While [A]crossing the [D]plains where the [E]buffalo [A]roam. 

            [chorus]

A [A]bad repu-[E]tation’s a [A]hard thing to [D]bear,
[A]Mothers pour [D]scorn and [E]children they [A]stare.
So he [A]found conso-[E]lation in [A]flash compa-[D]ny,
Your [A]life ain’t so [D]bad with a [E]girl on your [A]knee.
Oh, they [A]called him The [E]Kid, and [A]by twenty-[D]one,
[A]All that he [D]knew was the [E]power of the [A]gun.
And [A]by twenty-[E]three he’d [A]shot five men [D]down,
Who [A]got in his [D]way as he [E]rambled a-[A] round. 

            [chorus]

There’s [A]bones in the [E]desert, and [A]buzzards that [D]fly,
In the [A]highest of [D]circles, just [E]wishing he’d [A]die.
But in [A]matters of [E]cruelty [A]it must be [D]said,
A [A]landlord will [D]pick your bones [E]before you’re [A]dead.
It was [A]wild Mesca-[E]leros, I [A]heard people [D]say,
In the [A]deadliest [D]ambush near [E]old Santa [A]Fe.
And the [A]young buck was [E]taken, [A]dressed in a [D]coat,
And [A]inside the [D]lining was a [E]ten-shilling [A]note. 

[chorus] And he [A]did like the [E]ladies, the [A]rise and the [D]fall,
              Of their [A]ankles and [E]dresses down [A]on the dance [E]floor,
              And the [A]roll of the [E]dice and the [A]spin of the [D]wheel.
              But he [A]took most delight in the [E]slip jigs and [A]reels.

 

Back to songs index