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S.H. Foster

"The End of Big Bill Snyder" (karaoke)

"The End of Big Bill Snyder" (sheet music)


The moon was shining silver black;

The sheriff came in the dead of night;

High on a hill sat an Indian true,

And on his horn, this blast he blew:

 

Keep out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

We'll tar your coat and feather your hide, Sir!

 

The Indians gathered at the sound;

Bill cocked his pistol, looked around.

Their painted faces, by the moon,

He saw and heard that same old tune:

 

Keep out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

We'll tar your coat and feather your hide, Sir!

 

Says Bill, "This music's not so sweet

As I have heard. I think my feet

Had better be used." And he started to run,

But the tin horn still kept sounding on:

 

Keep out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

We'll tar your coat and feather your hide, Sir!

 

"Legs, do your duty now," says Bill,

"There's a thousand Indians on the hill.

When they catch Tories, they tar their coats

And feather their hides, and I hear the notes”:

 

Keep out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

We'll tar your coat and feather your hide, Sir!

 

And he thought that he heard the sound of a gun,

And he cried in his fright, "Oh! My race is won!

Better had it been had I never been born

Than to come within the sound of that tin horn."

 

Keep out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

We'll tar your coat and feather your hide, Sir!

 

And the news flew around and gained belief

That Bill was killed by an Indian chief,

And no one mourned that Bill was slain,

But the horn sounded on again and again:

 

Keep out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

We'll tar your coat and feather your hide, Sir!

 

Next day the body of Bill was found;

His writs were scattered on the ground,

And by his side a jug of rum

Told how he to his end had come.

 

He's out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

Out of the way, Big Bill Snyder!

We've tarred your coat and feathered your hide, Sir!


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