The Death Of Dora Hand - Frank Turner

Dora Hand was a singer in the New York operetta

Born into Boston old money, and Paris trained

Dressed in black, she was a classic beauty, but cursed with constitution sickly

She ventured West to breathe the fresh air on the Plains

She ended up down in Dodge City, it was a cowtown, dry and ugly

She hid her past, took Fannie Keenan for a name

Took the stage as a Vaudeville singer at the Lady Gay and the Alhambra

The cowboys loved her and she quickly rose to fame

Sing a song, boys, for Dora Hand

She brought a little beauty to this hard and barren land

Doff your caps, boys, though saved or damned

For Dora Hand

Now to the Dodge folk she was an Angel, they called her «Lady Bountiful»

By day, and «Queen Of Fairy Belles"by night

She was bringing in good money, so she gave plenty to the needy

She sure could sing, but she sure knew her wrong from right

Now lovely Dora, she took the fancy of that mayor, James Dog Kelley

Like many a man before him he was heard to say

«That there Dora is a beautiful creature, she gives men a strange nostalgia

Dreams of finer things and better days»

So sing a song, boys, for Dora Hand

She brought a little beauty to this hard and barren land

Dream a dream, boys, of a promised land

Of Dora Hand

Now young Spike Kenedy came up from Texas on a rolling black thunder cloud

He was a-whooping and a-whoring and a-drowning in whiskey like a one-man bad

luck crowd

One night he saw Dora singing at the Alhambra and he tried to slip the lady a

kiss

Dog Kelley got angry and he knocked him on his belly with one flick of his

Kansas wrist

Well now Spike, he got mad, he was looking out for blood, he was raging like

the Devil’s stepson

He rode out to the cabin which the mayor used for napping on a horse with a

loaded six-gun

He fired in the dark, but he didn’t hit his mark when the bullet went through

that wall

Kelley wasn’t in his bed, lying there in his stead, Dora Hand was killed

So the marshals, they raised a posse, and they caught up with young Spike Kenedy

His daddy bought him free, even though he confessed

All Dodge City wept for Dora, every bar closed as they buried her

Four hundred cowboys rode her to her rest

Sing a song, boys, with the funeral band

We won’t see her like again in this hard and barren land

Wave her off, boys, to No Man’s Land

Our Dora Hand