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With his old hat cinched firmly on his head.
    He pulled his six gun and let loose its deadly lead.
Just one shot was usually all it ever took.
    As he holstered his six gun and gave his victim just one final look.
The reputation of a killer it follows everywhere.
    Most towns had rules that wouldn’t allow his kind to come there.
It wasn’t really a life he had chosen it just happened that way.
  He was forced to fight or die this new game he learned so well how to play.
Cherokee Bill was the first man that forced him to kill.
    Sixteen years old when Cherokee dared him at will.
Cherokee tossed him a rusty old six gun and said now here is the deal.
    He said I’m faster than lightning and it’s your life I’m after and aimin to steal.
He was my first and from there it’s been simply hell.
    Fighting and killing and those hard nights spent in those jails.
He said he wished he could stop it but he knows of only one way.
   And as long as I’m able or find a better life here I’ll stay.
He unhitched his old pony and rode off that cold wintery day.
    Rumor has it you can’t kill him cause he has no soul is what people say.
They say he’s akin to the devil and he rides the death horse.
    But I saw him kill and it was done and he did it all with no remorse.
His eyes were so cold like they could see and not feel.
    When he rides into your town there will be a new soul he’ll be looking to steal.

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