riding his white horse
down her dusty street
his voice is coarse
his spurs shining bloody neat
stepping down at her saloon
to quench his thirst
his manner speaks of hero’s gloom
as he taps some dust off his shirt
the bulge in his breeches
and the guns on his hips
says ‘I am the man, stooges’
in greeting his stetson he tips
then kicked out her door
then raided her bank
then robbed her store
then bled the horse’s flank
as he left
down her dusty street
his voice is coarse
his spurs shining bloody neat
stepping down at her saloon
to quench his thirst
his manner speaks of hero’s gloom
as he taps some dust off his shirt
the bulge in his breeches
and the guns on his hips
says ‘I am the man, stooges’
in greeting his stetson he tips
then kicked out her door
then raided her bank
then robbed her store
then bled the horse’s flank
as he left
interesting poem! gee my die giggles i regte clint eastwood "I am the fastest gun in the west" poem
