Tom: A major
Intro 1
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Verse 1
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Poor
Lizzie loved a highwayman
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She gave him all a young girl can
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And in return he gave
From the bell at
Hempstead born to trade
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The butcher's axe and the
butcher's blade
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the picture made complete
But
Lizzie's mother understood
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That boy would come to nothing good
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An apprenticeship in bone and blood
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Won't lead my girl to motherhood
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Didn't he look fine in church today?
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In his buckle -boots and his
Fustian coat
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And his feathers blue an d grey
Young
Richard joined the
Gregories
All
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Essex boys, the lowest thieves
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They robbed both rich and poor
They broke into their homes at night
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Regardless of
their means or might
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They'd rape or scald or set alight
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Those poor souls who put up a fight
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No one abound, those desperate men
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They shot both enemies and friends
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They sold their souls for
Lizzie's dreams her phone gave way
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To cold nights in a forest cave
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To a husband who
she couldn't keep
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Who killed his friend and ran away
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On a stolen coal black mare called
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By a full moon's arc, he rode to
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York, two hundred miles away
With a bounty high, he changed his name
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He poached a deer and a
horse and game
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And left his father to
Till one day the landlord's bird he blew
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Dick , I know you
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And again the drunk his pistol drew
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Crying, let me charge and
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From his prison cell he sent a note
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To his brother and inside he wrote
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Fine men who'll stand good
But he wouldn't pay the postage due
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And the letter fell to one who knew
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The writing of the one
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whose fate had brought the
Turpin
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But didn't he look fine in court today?
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In his buckled boots and his bustian coat and his feathers
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blue an d grey
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Dick
Durbin paid five men to mourn
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A new coat an d shoes
stepped out at dawn
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Like a gentleman he bowed along the way
He stepped up to the hangman's gate
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He felt his leg begin to shake
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He stamped the fear and with
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And with a proud and noble air
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He left from that three -legged mare
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And for a while he dangled
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But mother, didn't he swing well today?
and his fustian coat,
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And his feathers blue an d grey.
They buried
Turpin's body deep,
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But when the town was fast
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The body snatchers stole his corpse away.
An angry crowd, friends to his fame,
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In preservation of his name,
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Saved him from the butcher's blade
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and laid to rest the highwayman
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And an other woman's tears fell on his
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feathers blue and grey
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We are turning left to
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Park
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Road
You
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