| It was a Sunday, a normal day at the track
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| I’d hedged my bets and cashed my checks for the week
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| I mean, the track was wet so the dogs were running slow
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| Plus the cold air made the starting gates jam
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| But I did alright
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| Other than that, a normal day at the track
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| Everyone had left except for one of the trainers
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| Who’d lost nearly everything on his last dog
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| So he was drinking like a priest at the rapture
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| Stacy was working
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| She had just broken up with her boyfriend
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| Who’d skipped town with her car and her life’s savings that morning
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| So she was on edge
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| It took nothing more than for me to ask her how she was doing
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| And she flipped
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| That was it
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| She reached under the bar back and pulled out a big, shiny .44
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| And pointed it straight at my head
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| The startled and broken dog trainer, to my left
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| Welled up and then threw up all over my shoes
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| And I just got those cleaned, as well
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| Stacy told me to give her my car, my day’s take
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| Or she’d spray the back wall with my cerebellum
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| At first I was rocked, shocked, and taken aback
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| By her half-cocked, locked, and stocked .44
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| But then the strangest thing happened
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| That look in her eye; |
| no fear, no compromise
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| Sent me on a spin, I could’ve taken her right there and then
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| She had me sweating, that was for sure
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| But not from fear, from lust
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| I trusted her volition was in no condition to drive
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| So I said
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| Hold me hostage, put the gun against my head
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| Hold me hostage, honey, you heard what I said
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| At this point, Dale, the dog trainer, had passed out
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| From either too much sorrow-drowning and whiskey-pounding
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| Or just fainted out of fear, which I didn’t understand
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| The man had nothing left
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| A perfect night to feel the hand of death
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| And what a way to go, all it would’ve taken was some barroom heroics
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| And Stacy would’ve wasted him
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| So now it was me and her, and I couldn’t break her gaze
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| Me and her dreaming of all the ways we could spend our days
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| Still, confusion stood heavy on her complexion
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| So I said again
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| Hold me hostage, put the gun against my head
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| Hold me hostage, honey, you heard what I said
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| Still looking impatient and confused
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| I decided I would explain my arousal
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| And state my proposal
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| That she and I, with love in eyes, and trust
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| Be thrust into blood-lust together
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| Forever and ever, until vengeance do we part
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| And I said again
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| Hold me hostage, put the gun against my head
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| Hold me hostage, honey, you heard what I said
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| Then I said
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| Take me with you, take me whilst you can
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| Take me with you, honey, I’ll hunt down your man
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| After still questioning the persistence in my assistance
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| I lied and said that, as a bookie, I was used to this bounty-hunting kind of
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| thing
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| And that we could find him, kill him
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| Retrieve her life’s savings and the beat-up old Pontiac
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| And be back before the track open again on Wednesday
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| I said as payment, for my act of chivalry/hired mercenary
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| Would be that she fed me, bathed me, and made love to me
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| With the same bold conviction as she felt for her burgeoning retribution
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| As I looked deeper into her eyes I thought, was she really gonna take me?
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| To have and to hold… hostage
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| In sickness and in health
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| And in bullet-riddled wealth
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| So I said
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| Take me with you, take me whilst you can
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| Take me with you, honey, I’ll hunt down your man
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| And then it happened
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| She slowly walked along the bar back
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| Knocking each bottle of cheap swill off the shelf with each swing of her hips
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| As she rounded the service alley
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| She unclasped her bra, threw it on the bar
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| Straddled me on my stool, said, «You crazy fool,»
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| And kissed me
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| Long and slow
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| Gun around my neck and neckline full of sweat
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| She took me right there and then on the floor
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| Next to poor old Pale Dale
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| (She said)
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| I’ll take you with me, take you while I can
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| I''ll take you with me, honey, you can be my man
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| So we took off, drove around for a couple of weeks
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| Making whoopee the whole way long
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| Found her man, empty pockets
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| We left him lying in a pool of his own urine
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| Couldn’t kill him
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| No fun shooting a coward, anyhow
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| So we took the Pontiac and opened a bar back in Savannah
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| She pours the shots, and I run the slots
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| Been married seven years
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| Living off quarters and beers
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| She still brings the gun to bed every now and then
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| Gets her kissin' through my submission
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| So there it is;
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| The last and best bet I ever made
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| Whoever said gambling’s for suckers? |