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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Smoke signals rise from Sitting Duck cavern In town the Pitt gang are trashing the tavern John Wayne strolled in and he ain’t here to dance They say that he walked like he just sh*t his pants Don’t be a doubtin, that Marshall ain’t messin A man ain’t alone when he’s got Smith n Wesson An outlaw’s revolver, a volley of lead A slug on the rebound leaves Rick O’Shey dead Wayne chewed his cheroot and a grin split his lips Hands above holsters gainst each of his hips ‘Sonny Pritt, I’m here to banish your ilk So get off your horse and drink your milk’ Pritt clambered down with no fear in his eye Wayne said God-dammit you're one metre high Pritt said I’m three feet to the lobes of my ears We still won’t be metric in two hundred years Wayne said you're the midget that’s been on the loose Since someone got paid to tie a bad noose But I've tracked you down to this two bit saloon About the right place for a two bit buffoon Pritt said I won’t stand here in fear of my life For a man with an Indian brave for a wife You stand there and tell me you’re Marshall John Wayne You wanna think whose side your on... just sayin Wayne spat his cheroot, crushed it under his boot We gotta discuss the small matter of loot You vermin are butchers and robbers, not scholars I’m guessin you’re toting a fistful of dollars You better come easy, don’t one of you frown One out of place twitch, and I’ll cut you all down So lay all your weapons down there on the floor Won’t need me no rope if you move and I draw Pritt said I think we should take this outside So shoot me or follow, I’ll let you decide He ducked the swing doors and stepped out of the tavern And read the smoke signals from Sitting Duck cavern I think what it says is, ‘Hey you, in the town Many men try to bring my white man down He’s braver than one of Geronimo’s sons But tell him come home... He’s forgotten his guns’ Without Smith and Wesson, the lawman was beat So Marshall John Wayne lies dead at Pritt’s feet A bundle of tumbleweed rolls down the street No reason really, it’s just kinda neat. Epilogue Pritt and his gang left him dead in the street Like food for coyotes, just festering meat But John Wayne sat up in the afternoon heat And pulls from his waistcoat, a dented steel sheet With a click of his tongue his faithful horse, Jester Came over and Wayne grabbed his trusty Winchester He pushed the swing doors and the gang met his gaze What Wayne left behind was a right Bolognese
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