Freedom Was the Death of Me
We rode into Nacogdoches, with our pistols and our Bowie knives,
Volunteers for Texas—we came to risk our lives.
Some of us had families, and others, just the memory,
And some of us they didn’t hardly miss in Kentucky and in Tennessee.
Some of us came for adventure, and others, we came for land;
But at the Alamo down in San Antone we made our last stand.
Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it “Liberty.”
But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republic—so Texas could be free.
But freedom was the death of me.
Colonel Bowie from Louisiana, with a big knife at his side,
He got drunk ‘most every day, but he was sober when he died.
Colonel Travis from Alabama, commander of the Alamo,
He answered Santa Ana with a cannon shot, and he let the world know.
Colonel Crockett, he was laughing—with his men he held the wall.
But the Mexicans, they overcame them, and you know they killed them all.
And the Mexicans kept coming, everyone of them was brave,
But they turned the mission of the Alamo into a heroes’ grave.
Susannah Dickinson, a lady from Tennessee—
Her husband died across his cannon, but Santa Ana let her go free,
With her little girl, she went free.
Santa Ana he grew careless; Sam Houston he laid in wait
Down on the San Jacinto River--Santa Ana met his fate.
Now the tourists load their cameras, in a San Antone motel,
And they buy postcards and they suck on snow-cones, and they stand right where I fell.
Some called it glory and some called it greed, and some they called it “Liberty.”
But mostly they called it the Lone Star Republic, so Texas could be free.
And freedom was the death of me.
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