Across the Alley from the AlamoAcross the alley from the AlamoLived a Pinto pony in the NavajoSang a sort of Indian hidey-hoTo the people passin' byA Pinto Spanish and a Swishin' FlyIn the Navajo watched the lazy skyAnd very rarely did they ever rest their eyesOn the people passin' byOne day they went a-walkin'Along the railroad trackThey were switchin' out a-lookin'They never came backAcross the alley from the AlamoWhen the summer sun decides to settle lowA fly sings an Indian hidey-hoTo the people passin' by. . .Across the alley from the AlamoLived a Pinto pony in the NavajoWho used to bake frijoles and cornmeal doughTo the people passin' byThey thought that they would make some easy bucksBy washin' their froles in dust and luskA pair of very catchy Etch-a-squatsTo the people passin' byThen they took this cheap vacationTheir shoes were polished blackNo, they never heard the whistleThey're clear out of sightAcross the alley from the AlamoWhen the starlight beams extend their glowThe beans go to sleep and then there ain't no doughFor the people passin' byAcross the alley from the Alamo. . .