ROY BEAN

I know the law... I am it's greatest transgressor.

Time will pass and seasons will come and go.

You have been tried by twelve good men and true, not of your peers but as high above you as heaven is of hell, and they have said you are guilty. Time will pass and seasons will come and go. Spring with its waving green grass and heaps of sweet-smelling flowers on every hill and in every dale. Then sultry Summer, with her shimmering heat-waves on the baked horizon. And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon and the hills growing brown and golden under a sinking sun. And finally Winter, with its biting, whining wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow. But you won't be here to see any of 'em; not by a damn sight, because it's the order of this court that you be took to the nearest tree and hanged by the neck till you're dead, dead, dead, you olive-colored son of a billy goat.

And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon and the hills growin' brown and golden under a sinkin' sun.

You have been tried by twelve good men and true, not of your peers but as high above you as heaven is of hell, and they have said you are guilty.

Gentlemen, I find the law very explicit on murdering your fellow man, but there's nothing here about killing a Chinaman. Case dismissed.

Hang 'em first, try 'em later.

The Jersey Lilly. Roy Bean, Notary Public, The Law West of the Pecos

Time will pass and seasons will come and go.

And finally Winter, with its bitin', whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

You have been tried by twelve good men and true, not of your peers but as high above you as heaven is of hell, and they have said you are guilty.

Hang 'em first, try 'em later.

Gentlemen, I find the law very explicit on murdering your fellow man, but there's nothing here about killing a Chinaman. Case dismissed.

And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon and the hills growin' brown and golden under a sinkin' sun.

I know the law... I am it's greatest transgressor.

You have been tried by twelve good men and true, not of your peers but as high above you as heaven is of hell, and they have said you are guilty. Time will pass and seasons will come and go. Spring with its waving green grass and heaps of sweet-smelling flowers on every hill and in every dale. Then sultry Summer, with her shimmering heat-waves on the baked horizon. And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon and the hills growing brown and golden under a sinking sun. And finally Winter, with its biting, whining wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow. But you won't be here to see any of 'em; not by a damn sight, because it's the order of this court that you be took to the nearest tree and hanged by the neck till you're dead, dead, dead, you olive-colored son of a billy goat.

The Jersey Lilly. Roy Bean, Notary Public, The Law West of the Pecos