Ballad of Pretty Boy Floyd

In a smokey room, the shadows fall. I sing the blues,

hear my soulful call. He was a legend, they called him

Floyd. Pretty boy with a life destroyed. He moved like

a whisper, with a gun in his hand. Hunted by the law,

across this darkened land. Oh, pretty boy Floyd. Where did you

go? Where did you go? Where did you go?

In the dust of Oklahoma, your story flows. A modern-day Robin

Hood. Robin Hood. That's what they say. What they say.