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Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
THE GUNFIGHTING KIND
Joel T. Bailey
He rode into town
His gun tied down
Looking left and right
He was called the best
But he needed a rest
Not looking for a fight
Behind closed doors
Of shops and stores
He was looked at with fear
Old men were smart
They wanted no part
Of the man drawing near
But there was some
Still young and dumb
Who wanted the rep he had
With guns tied low
They wanted to show
The town they were bad
So with a shout
One called him out
Old man make your play
He said let me be
I'm tired you see
I don't feel like killing today
But with a curse
The punk drew first
Still thinking he was fast
He felt no hurt
His face in the dirt
He'd breathed his last
It's always the same
With a gunfighters name
No peace could he find
His fault he knows
It's the life he chose
To be the gunfighting kind
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