| A young boy named Billy Joe, restless on the farm
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| A boy filled with wanderlust, who never really meant no harm
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| He changed his clothes and he shined his boots
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| And he combed his dark hair down
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| But his mama cried as he walked out:
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| 'Don't take your guns to town
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| Don’t take your guns to town
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| Don’t take your guns… to town'
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| He laughed and kissed his mom and said 'Your Billy Joe he’s the man
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| I can shoot as quick, I can shoot as straight, as anybody, can
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| But I wouldn’t shoot, without a cause, or gun nobody down'
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| But she cried again as he rode away:
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| 'Don't take your guns to town
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| Son, leave your guns at home
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| Don’t take your guns to town'
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| Well he drank his first strong liquor then to calm his shaking hands
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| And he tried, he tried to tell himself at last he had become a man
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| But a dusty cowpoke stood at his side, began to laugh him down
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| And he heard again his mother’s words:
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| 'Don't take your guns to town
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| Son, leave your guns at home
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| Don’t take your guns…'
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| Don’t take your guns…
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| Don’t take your guns to town
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| Don’t take your guns…
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| Don’t take your guns to town
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| Filled with rage then Billy Joe reached for his gun to draw
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| But the stranger drew his gun and fired before he even saw
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| As Billy Joe fell to the floor the crowd all gathered around
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| And wondered at his final words:
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| 'Don't take your guns to town
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| Son, leave your guns at home
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| Don’t take your guns to town' |