(Woody Guthrie)

Gather round me children, a story I will tell
About Pretty Boy Floyd, the outlaw, Oklahoma knew him well.

‘Twas in the town of Shawnee on a Saturday afternoon
With his wife beside him in a wagon it was into town they rode.

Well, a deputy sheriff called him in a manner rather rude
Using vulgar words of language and his wife she overheard.

Well, Pretty Boy grabbed a log chain, the deputy grabbed his gun
And in the fight that followed, he laid that deputy down.

He took to the woods and timbers, he lived a life of shame,
Every crime in Oklahoma they laid on to his name.

He took to the river boaters long the North Canadian river shore
And many a starving farmer he opened up his door.

They tell about a stranger, the same story goes
How Pretty Boy paid their mortgage and he saved their little home.

Others tell about a stranger who came to beg a meal
And underneath his napkin, he left a thousand dollar bill.

Into Oklahoma City, it was on a Christmas day
Come a whole wagonload full of groceries and a note on which did say:

“You say that I’m an outlaw, you say that I’m a thief,
Well, here’s a Christmas dinner for your families on relief.”

Through this world I’ve rambled, I’ve seen many funny men,
Some will rob you with a six-gun and some with a fountain pen.

But as through your lives you travel, boys, as through your lives you roam
You won’t never see no outlaw drive a family from their home.