A Cowboy Poet Shot In the Shin

The cowboy poet went out for a breath of fresh air. Then a shot rang out, coming out of nowhere. The bullet came straight, flying towards him. Now he’s a sad poet who’s been shot in the shin. He looked all around, only saw the prairie. Never found his foe wherever he be. Now for all his days he will walk with a limp, that sad, cowboy poet who’s been shot in the shin. Oh sad, sad poet, never hurt anything. Oh sad, sad poet, no one of this will sing. Oh sad, sad poet, it’s the damndest of things, to be a cowboy poet who’s been shot in the shin. He hopped to the house and settled down there. Friends sent for the doc, who in an hour appeared. The doc showed up and made his in, said,”Now who would ever shoot a man in the shin?” Took the bullet out and he cleaned up the wound. Then he tipped his hat and said “good afternoon.” As the years went by, the mystery settled in. Who would want to hurt a poet, who shot him in the shin? Oh sad, sad poet, never hurt anything. O sad, sad poet what weirdness life brings. Oh sad, sad poet there’s no understanding Why a cowboy poet would be shot in the shin.