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Written by: PAUL FRANCIS WEBSTER
and
DIMITRI TIOMKIN
In the southern part of Texas,
In the town of San Antone,
There's a fortress all in ruins
That the weeds have overgrown.
You may look in vain for crosses
And you'll never see a one,
But sometimes between the setting
And the rising of the sun,
You can hear a ghostly bugle
As the men go marching by.
You can hear them as they answer
To that roll call in the sky:
Colonel Travis, Davy Crockett
And a hundred and eighty more;
Captain Dickenson, Jim Bowie,
Present and accounted for.
Back in 1836,
Houston said to Travis:
"Get some volunteers and go
Fortify the Alamo."
Well, the men came from Texas
And from old Tennessee,
And they joined up with Travis
Just to fight for the right to be free.
Indian scouts with squirrel guns,
Men with muzzle loaders,
Stood together heel and toe
To defend the Alamo.
"You may ne'er see your loved ones."
Travis told them that day.
"Those that want to can leave now.
Those who'll fight to the death,
Let 'em stay."
In the sand, he drew a line
With his army sabre.
Out of a hundred and eighty five,
Not a soldier crossed the line.
With his banners a-dancing
In the dawn's golden light,
Santa Anna came prancing
On a horse that was black
As the night.
Sent an officer to tell
Travis to surrender.
Travis answered with a shell
And a rousing Rebel yell.
Santa Anna turned scarlet,
"Play 'Deguello'!" he roared.
"I will show them no quarter.
Everyone will be put to the sword!"
One hundred and eighty five
Holding back five thousand.
Five days, six days, eight days, ten;
Travis held and held again.
Then he sent for replacements
For his wounded and lame,
But the troops that were coming
Never came, never came, never came.
Twice he charged, then blew recall.
On the fatal third time,
Santa Anna breached the wall
And he killed them, one and all.
Now the bugles are silent
And there's rust on each sword,
And the small band of soldiers
Lie asleep in the arms of the Lord.
In the southern part of Texas,
Near the town of San Antone,
Like a statue on his pinto,
Rides a cowboy all alone.
As he gazes at the cattle
Where a century before,
Santa Anna's men were marching
And the cannon used to roar.
And his eyes turn sort of misty,
And his heart begins to glow,
And he takes his hat off slowly
To the men of Alamo.
To the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo.
Let the old men tell the story
Let the legend grow and grow
Of the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo.
Raise the tattered banners proudly
As the eyes of Texas shine.
Let the fort that was mission
Be an everlasting shrine.
For they fought to give us freedom.
That is all we need to know
Of the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo.
Now, the bugles are silent
And there's rust on each sword,
And the small band of soldiers
Lie asleep in the arms of the Lord.
***********************************
***********************************
***********************************
Written by: PAUL FRANCIS WEBSTER
and
DIMITRI TIOMKIN
In the southern part of Texas,
In the town of San Antone,
There's a fortress all in ruins
That the weeds have overgrown.
You may look in vain for crosses
And you'll never see a one,
But sometimes between the setting
And the rising of the sun,
You can hear a ghostly bugle
As the men go marching by.
You can hear them as they answer
To that roll call in the sky:
Colonel Travis, Davy Crockett
And a hundred and eighty more;
Captain Dickenson, Jim Bowie,
Present and accounted for.
Back in 1836,
Houston said to Travis:
"Get some volunteers and go
Fortify the Alamo."
Well, the men came from Texas
And from old Tennessee,
And they joined up with Travis
Just to fight for the right to be free.
Indian scouts with squirrel guns,
Men with muzzle loaders,
Stood together heel and toe
To defend the Alamo.
"You may ne'er see your loved ones."
Travis told them that day.
"Those that want to can leave now.
Those who'll fight to the death,
Let 'em stay."
In the sand, he drew a line
With his army sabre.
Out of a hundred and eighty five,
Not a soldier crossed the line.
With his banners a-dancing
In the dawn's golden light,
Santa Anna came prancing
On a horse that was black
As the night.
Sent an officer to tell
Travis to surrender.
Travis answered with a shell
And a rousing Rebel yell.
Santa Anna turned scarlet,
"Play 'Deguello'!" he roared.
"I will show them no quarter.
Everyone will be put to the sword!"
One hundred and eighty five
Holding back five thousand.
Five days, six days, eight days, ten;
Travis held and held again.
Then he sent for replacements
For his wounded and lame,
But the troops that were coming
Never came, never came, never came.
Twice he charged, then blew recall.
On the fatal third time,
Santa Anna breached the wall
And he killed them, one and all.
Now the bugles are silent
And there's rust on each sword,
And the small band of soldiers
Lie asleep in the arms of the Lord.
In the southern part of Texas,
Near the town of San Antone,
Like a statue on his pinto,
Rides a cowboy all alone.
As he gazes at the cattle
Where a century before,
Santa Anna's men were marching
And the cannon used to roar.
And his eyes turn sort of misty,
And his heart begins to glow,
And he takes his hat off slowly
To the men of Alamo.
To the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo.
Let the old men tell the story
Let the legend grow and grow
Of the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo.
Raise the tattered banners proudly
As the eyes of Texas shine.
Let the fort that was mission
Be an everlasting shrine.
For they fought to give us freedom.
That is all we need to know
Of the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo.
Now, the bugles are silent
And there's rust on each sword,
And the small band of soldiers
Lie asleep in the arms of the Lord.
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