Son of a Gun


He laid face down
In the desert sand
Clutching a sixgun
In his hand
And me & Maria went to watch him die.
Suddenly the raised and said:
Help me now, or I shoot you dead!.
- I got an arrow in my back
And it aches as hell!!

So we jumped on down in the yellow sand
Started helping this gunfighting man
He was six feet tall`n`four feet wide
And the wagon tipped from side to side
Driving into the red, red sun
Poor mule he could hardly run
I turned my head to Maria
And she turned her head to mine:
And we knew...
What he was going to do
He was going to shoo-oo-oy
His whole way through
And his name was on the pistol
- And he was son of a gun!!

As we went driving into town
We saw these posters all around
There was a big reward upon his head
'Cause the Marshall wanted to see
him dead...
As we talked about this gunfighting man
We saw the steel in his hand:
Now folks I want to see you run!
To the rhythm of my gun!!
And we knew...

Well I was saved & I was glad
Thanks to my old stetson hat®
It went through the top
Only leaving a spot
It was fabricated by an Indian bud
Who did not now that he was hot
Hanging on the posters everywhere...

So I took one step back
And tipped my hat
And looked him in his eyes
Aom shit he was telling me the
Dirtiest lies
I had no time to get away
I was trapped in the USA
C`mon Maria, let`s get out of his war...

And we knew...

And we knew...
Dow! Flam bam! Pow! Bow!