| The men, women and children gathered round that hangin' tree
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| The word was out a young man soon would die
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| But no one seemed concerned enough to tell his family
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| Of just exactly where his bones would lie
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| Oh, yes, they had a trial,
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| But it didn’t last too long
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| The judge began to smile, as they sang that hangin' song
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| They said:
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| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
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| Cause what you done was in the first degree
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| We’ll send a preacher to bless your soul,
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| Then we’ll dig that six foot hole
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| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
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| From the black hills he’d come, into the town of Parmelee
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| He saw a man bleeding and dying on the ground
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| Jumped off his horse to help the man,
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| But as he reached his knees,
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| Heard the dying words, «Son, don’t go near that town.»
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| Then a dozen men appeared, and they saw what he had found
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| They blamed him for the killing, then they led him into town
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| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
 | 
| Cause what you done was in the first degree
 | 
| We’ll send a preacher to bless your soul
 | 
| Then we’ll dig that six foot hole
 | 
| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
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| Well, the marshal of this town was a crook named Willie B.
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| He had beady eyes and a badge upon his chest
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| He told the crowd outside the jail, as calmly as could be
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| «I caught him, so now you can do the rest.»
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| Well they drug him to the courthouse,
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| And they held a makeshift trial,
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| The judge he dropped his hammer, and that crowd began to smile
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| They said:
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| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
 | 
| Cause what you done was in the first degree
 | 
| We’ll send a preacher to bless your soul,
 | 
| Then we’ll dig that six foot hole
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| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
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| The young man bowed in silence, as he said a word of prayer
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| Forgive them lord, they know not what they’ve done
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| Then he grabbed the guard beside him, and he headed for the door
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| Sayin, «Leave me be, or he’ll die from his own gun.»
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| On a horse he headed out of town,
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| With a posse close behind,
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| And they were riding hard and fast, with one thing on their mind
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| Suddenly, the preacher appeared upon the road
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| He said, «Turn around, and let the boy go free,
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| For I done saw the killin', and me story shall be told
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| That the murderer was you marshal, Willie B.»
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| Well that posse looked in disbelief, ashamed for what they’d done
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| That man had run this town too long,
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| But now his day had come
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| We’re gonna hang him, from that hangin' tree
 | 
| Cause what he done was in the first degree
 | 
| We’ll send a preacher to bless his soul,
 | 
| Then we’ll dig that six foot hole
 | 
| We’re gonna hang him, from that hangin' tree
 | 
| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
 | 
| Cause what you done was in the first degree
 | 
| We’ll send a preacher to bless your soul,
 | 
| Then we’ll dig that six foot hole
 | 
| We’re gonna hang you, from that hangin' tree
 | 
| Yes we’re gonna hang that ol' marshal Willie B.
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| We’re gonna hang him, from that hangin' tree |