The Land of the Gun

THE LAND OF THE GUN

Old leather chaps covered in dust
Wagon trains rolling its gold or bust
Lives won and lost all in the quest
All things are possible if you just go west

Hat down low gazing into the sun
Searching for a place to hide always on the run
Eyes wrinkled but still sharp as a hawk
A solitary man hard as a rock

The sound of spurs echoing down an alley
A posse riding hard and fast through Death Valley
Horse hooves pounding kicking dirt into the wind
Soon it will be over, the desperado will meet his end

Five days a fugitive his horse rode to death
The bandit begins to tire he doesn’t have much left
With hands held high he gives up the fight
He will be dead before sunset, he won’t live another night

Death has come and brought the scent of decay
Vultures circling above in search of their prey
A hangmans' noose is sure to come
If you live the life of an outlaw in the land of the gun