| He laid face down
|
| In the desert sand
|
| Clutching a sixgun
|
| In his hand
|
| And me and 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 sixfeet 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 Mary
|
| And she turned her head to mine
|
| And we knew
|
| What he was going to do
|
| He was going to shoo-ooh
|
| 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
|
| What he was going to do
|
| He was going to shoo-ooh
|
| His whole way through
|
| And his name was on the pistol
|
| And he was son of a gun
|
| Well, I was saved and 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
|
| Well, I took one step back
|
| And tipped my hat
|
| And looked him in his eyes
|
| Oh shit, he was telling me the dirtiest lies
|
| I had no time to get away
|
| I was trapped in the USA
|
| C’mon Mary, let’s get out of his war
|
| And we knew
|
| What he was going to do
|
| He was going to shoo-ooh
|
| His whole way through
|
| And his name was on the pistol…
|
| And we knew
|
| What he was going to do
|
| He was going to shoo-ooh
|
| His whole way through
|
| And his name was on the pistol
|
| And he was son of a gun |