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The old man signs autographs, telling young boys how a lifetime of crime never pays,
You heard from his legends he robbed a few banks in his younger and turbulent days;
He works at the fairgrounds, he’s starting the horse race, he shoots off his gun with a blast—
They use him for drawing a crowd with the tales of his troublesome, violent past.

He works at the theater, taking the tickets, he works in a Wild West show,
Reporters come ‘round with the same old damned questions, and answers their readers must know:
“Now, say there, old-timer, hey what about Jesse your brother—was he all that bad?
And what about Northfield, and what about Nashville, those narrow escapes that you had?”

Frank James ‘been living too long, and he’s living on memories…
He tells you a story in trade for a drink or a job,
Frank James ‘been living too long, and he’s living on memories….
And how many payrolls and how many trains did he rob?

Now he was eighteen when he joined up with Quantrill to fight in that sad Civil War,
They rode into Lawrence—a hundred and fifty civilians were slain, maybe more;

And after the War both the James’s and Youngers kept riding and robbing, so free—
But Frank James read Shakespeare and raised him a family and hid out in old Tennessee.

Now Jesse was wilder and Frank James was milder, the difference was easy to tell,
In St. Joe Missouri, his back to a friend, Jesse James took a bullet and fell,
And Frank James surrendered, he came in so quiet, they took him to trial for his crimes—
Now airplanes and automobiles tell the outlaw he doesn’t belong in these times.

Frank James ‘been living too long, and he’s living on memories…
He tells you a story for a drink or a job,
Frank James ‘been living too long, and he’s living on memories…
And how many payrolls and how many trains did he rob?
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