Alfred Y. Allee, born in 1855, lived on up through ninety-six.
He came into this world outta' the womb in Dewitt County, Texas.
It was over in Karnes County, sometime in eighty-two,
that they appointed him as deputy...
an' he soon became mighty controversial.
Reportedly he saw a robber an' filled him with some lead.
Yep, an' soon was charged with murder.
"An ol' score he was settling," they said.
An' yet he were acquitted.
Some say, "he escaped the rope."
Though he was smart enough ta' move on.
Headed over ta' Frio,
another deputy's badge ta' scope.
Yet just a smidge of time had past,
while bearin' tin star number two,
a'for he laid ta' rest a fellow deputy,
with eight bits of lead:
four ta' the heart of the chest.
They say Allee an' this other deputy, Rhodes,
were jus' arguin' 'bout who's the faster.
Both took offense, then took ta' steel,
an' betwixt the two it would appear
that Alfred was the master.
Fer' two-guns he did palm that day,
with which ta' send the lead a flyin'.
An' never had a second thought
while Rhodes jus' lay there dyin'.
Thus up popped murder charge number two;
an' once again he were acquitted
of this action born of blood lust thirst.
It were on account of witnesses a comin' forward,
friendly ones, insistin' that Rhodes drew first.
Yet as time passed, many a rumor would arise
regardin' this infamous deputy.
Like shootin' down prisoners already cowed,
an' victims unprepared fer' his lightnin' trigger an' his draw.
Some say it were his most recognized ability.
To say he weren't mean would be a lie,
cuz' his callousness showed right through.
But he weren't no coward, an' that's a fact.
Proved his mettle often enough,
like when assigned ta' track
down wild an' vicious train an' bank robbers,
like the notorious Brack ---
Cornett, that is.
A member of the Bill Whitley band,
who evaded a posse of Texas R's,
after Whitley bit the dust.
And thinkin' he's a free man
on his way ta' Arizony.'
But fate came a callin',
cuz' he was intercepted by the deputy Allee:
who had trailed him long an' hard
'cross that ol' Texas prairie.
In a pitched gun battle jus' right fer' history books,
the two come a chargin' at each other
astride their horses,
with two-guns a'blazin',
with cursin' an' dirty looks.
And once again in a deadly quest,
his aim was true, he proved the best
in the heated battle.
He cocked the hammer, an' pulled the trigger,
an' shot Brack right outta' the saddle.
But these good deeds were often few an' far between,
when it came ta' the duties of the star.
Although he did retain the badge,
its use, more often abuse,
soiled his name: his reputation it did mar.
Abuse like backin' prejudice,
he had a pronounced hate fer' the colored.
There's one instance in particular,
while attemptin' ta' board a train
he was shoved back down the steps
after he ordered
a black porter
outta' the way.
Grabbed a rail ta' stop his fall,
an' then could not refrain
from drawin' steel an' pullin' the trigger.
Gettin' his kicks. "I killed me a..."
Well, ya' know what he said,
til they slapped him in irons again.
Killin' whites an' killin' blacks,
it really didn't seem ta' matter:
he killed because he could.
So up on charge number three.
The charge of murder, though Allee never fretted.
He knew with laws so abused, or misunderstood,
once more he'd be acquitted.
And he was.
He had a knack fer' escapin' death.
Though per chance it was jus' dumb luck.
But no matter how mean ya' are,
no matter how big or stout,
an' no matter how often the law passed the buck,
eventually yer' luck would run out.
An' the violent past that Allee had lived
caught up with him in Laredo
on the nineteenth of August in 1896.
He met his match in a barroom brawl.
He was stabbed ta' death,
an' quickly buried beneath the sod an' sticks,
without so much as a single mourner.
An' there my friends is a lesson ta' be learned.
If ya' live yer' life bein' mean ta' others,
don't be surprised when you are spurned.