| A bowie knife, a woolen coat, a grip bag on my arm |
| It’s all somebody needs to make it through the land |
| Walk the night, travel light, cross the Rio Grandee |
| Someone strums a mandolin, soft gulf breezes blow |
| My new life is waiting in old Mexico |
| I was once a married man livin' peacefully |
| Hard to say exactly when the devil blinded me |
| But there was some confusion when my sweet wife left this world |
| Darker times, drunken crimes, a dead young working girl |
| Left a jailer there in Caroline, watching me from down below |
| My new life is waiting in old Mexico |
| Livin' in the shadows |
| Runnin' from my fame |
| Blowin' where the wind blows |
| Where no one knows my name |
| In the El Vaquero Bar in the town of Eagle Pass |
| Moments from my freedom warm whiskey in my glass |
| Some Borracho took me for the man who stole his wife |
| He went for his forty-four as I reached for my knife |
| He never fired a second shot, he was just too slow |
| My new life is waiting in old Mexico |
| I hear of hidden harbors south of Mazatlan |
| Where cool spring mountain waters meet the warm Pacific sun |
| I pray the miles I’ve traveled and all the sins I bear |
| Burn away like mornin' fog and vanish in the air |
| Miles beyond the border now, but many miles to go |
| My new life is waiting in old Mexico |
| A bowie knife, a woolen coat, a grip bag on my arm |
| It’s all somebody needs to make it through the land |