Willie Seton was a lad, his age was just sixteen
Golden curls hung down his neck, the fairest ever seen

His true love was the prettiest thing in the countryside
And after Willie courted her, she swore to be his bride

He had no gold to give her dad, no gold to buy them land
And in his haste to wed his love, he joined an outlaw band

They ravaged all the countryside, their fortunes for to gain
Until one cold and windy day they robbed the Frisco train

The train guard lost his life that day, but just before he died
He fired a deadly pistol ball in Willie Seton's side

His comrades they deserted him and left him there alone
And holding tightly to his side, he started out for home

He had not traveled many a mile until the storm came on
And Willie Seton found a log to set himself upon

He leaned his back against the tree and held onto his side
And in that cold and snowy wood, young Willie Seton died

He was sixteen when he loved, sixteen when he cried
Sixteen when he robbed a train, and sixteen, when he died