The Ballad of Pretty Boy Floyd [Italian translation]

If you'll gather 'round me, children,

A story I will tell

'Bout Pretty Boy Floyd, an outlaw,

Oklahoma knew him well.

It was in the town of Shawnee,

A Saturday afternoon,

His wife beside him in his wagon

As into town they rode.

There a deputy sheriff approached him

In a manner rather rude,

Vulgar words of anger,

An' his wife she overheard.

Pretty Boy grabbed a log chain,

And the deputy grabbed his gun;

In the fight that followed

He laid that deputy down.

Then he took to the trees and timber

Along the river shore,

Hiding on the river bottom

And he never come back no more.

Yes, he took to the trees and timber

To live a life of shame;

Every crime in Oklahoma

Was added to his name.

But a many a starvin' farmer

The same old story told

How the outlaw paid their mortgage

And saved their little homes.

Others tell you 'bout a stranger

That come to beg a meal,

Underneath his napkin

Left a thousand-dollar bill.

It was in Oklahoma City,

It was on a Christmas Day,

There was a whole car load of groceries

Come with a note to say:

"Well, you say that I'm an outlaw,

You say that I'm a thief.

Here's a Christmas dinner

For the families on relief."

Yes, as through this world I've wandered

I've seen lots of funny men;

Some will rob you with a six-gun,

And some with a fountain pen.

And as through your life you travel,

Yes, as through your life you roam,

You won't never see an outlaw

Drive a family from their home.