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 ʻLady Bountiful’
By day, and ʻQueen 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 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.