Fast Gun

I can hear the leather of the saddle, As I ride atop. I can feel the reins tighten in my hands, When I try to make him stop. I can feel the sturrups around my boots, When I prepare to dismount. Don't know how many times I cleared leather, So many I can't count. Stared in the eyes of many men, At fourty feet or more. Killed many men that wanted to win, Against me and my fourty-four. But I am getting old and slower, My time must be near. But I will survive and stay alive, As long as leather I clear.