Thursday, 9 February 2012
He’s narrow at the shoulder
And he’s wider at the hip.
He wears his momma’s underwear,
Her shoes and dress and slip.
But say his name throughout the West
And desperados quake
‘Cos he’s a mile more dangerous
Than any rattle snake.
He wears his four-gun tied up high,
Wears specs to aid his sight
And in his belt a diction'ry,
To get his cuss words right.
But should some rustlers comes to town
To challenges him to fight,
He lifts his skirts and shows his wares,
And outlaws run in fright.
Cos underneath that female garb
I’ve seen it and it’s true,
A Gatling gun, two hand grenades
And tattoos writ in blue:
“You wanna play? Then I‘m your man,”
It says, and they all cower.
“Undo your belt and drop your pants
Let’s see your fi-re power!”
But not a man has ever stayed
To draw, or call his bluff
And most went straight right afterwards
They knew they'd had enough!
With a respectful nod to the wonderful
Auntie Jack show.
Image borrowed from Wikipedia.
PS. This is the sort of nonsense that comes to mind when one is sleep deprived.