Lyrics:

Written by Woody GuthrieWell gather round children, a story I will tellAbout Pretty Boy Floyd the outlaw, Oklahoma knew him wellWas in the town of Shawnee on a Saturday afternoonHis wife beside him in a wagon as into town they rodeAnd along come a deputy sheriff in a manner rather rudeUsing vulgar words of language and his wife she overheardAnd Pretty Boy Floyd grabbed a long chain, and the deputy grabbed a gunAnd in the fight that followed, he laid that deputy downThen he ran through the trees and bushes and lived a life of shameEvery crime in Oklahoma was added to his nameHe ran through trees and bushes on the Canadian River shoreAnd many a starving farmer opened up his doorIt was in Oklahoma City, It was on a Christmas DayA whole carload of groceries and a letter that did sayWell you say that I'm an outlaw, you say that I'm a thiefWell, here's a Christmas dinner for the families on reliefAs through this life you travel, you meet some funny menSome rob you with a six-gun, some with a fountain penAs through this life you ramble, as through this life you roamYou'll never see an outlaw take a family from their home