The Ballad Of Isidoro Quirós lyrics by Clayton Mayo - original song full text. Official The Ballad Of Isidoro Quirós lyrics, 2024 version | LyricsMode.com
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Clayton Mayo – The Ballad Of Isidoro Quirós lyrics
[Verse 1]
Isidoro Quirós was a bandit they say
His name meant sure trouble down in Mexico way
And it was trouble he caused and it was sure here to stay

[Verse 2]
He had lots of women he had lots of gold
No federale was too fast and no ranger too bold
No river too wide and no horse was too old
He stole lots of horses and he stole lots of gold
But he always gave back like stories of old
And he'd never be caught and he'd never be branded
He'd never grow old and he'd always recall
What his papa had told him when he was a niño
Son's this world's too rough so you sure better know
Don't take none from no one and keep those eyes pointed low
To those stars up above 'cause that's where you will show
To those stars up above 'cause that's where you will know

[Verse 3]
The legend was told like the wind that had blowed
That El Loco Quirós had a sword that had flowed
Two guns on his belt that he always had showed
His story was told from every humble abode
From Puebla to Juárez every kid knew his name
But further up north they had not liked his game
Los gringos meant business Isidoro had heard
Whispers of a posse from the city of Kansas
Executive orders to cross those great borders
They sure meant their sure business, so the bandit had heard
Don't mess with no gringo or you'll no longer be heard
Cuidado Isidito you Mexican fool
No, you can't steal their horses you can't steal their gold
You can't steal their women you can't steal their gold
Put that hat on the rack, you are getting too old
If you were to run away now we'd still say you were bold

[Verse 4]
One night near old Juárez so quiet and clear
In the back of a cantina playing calm with his beer
He called over Juanita and gave her a kiss
He said to Juanita, "this may be my last"
To prison he'd go if he was to be captured
But be captured was something he was not to be
He thought of the stories that were yet to be told
And he thought of the children to which they'd be told
Gunned down in a street or to rot in a cell
It was honor or logic from what he could tell
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