Padre Has a Gun

Mary Six Pack Pistols staggers through time portals drunk Pretending to be a priest but she is not a mister or a sister To the old west saloon through double doors she glides Drunker than a nun on steroids swinging rosaries from her side Into a smoke filled room in rusty spurs and fake mustache Presenting herself as a monsignor from another time and place Cowboy boots caked in mud with love she blesses them Introducing her two guns from underneath a long black dress It is a curtain, a robe, a nun inside a habit for blasting baddies There must be a shower outside which indicates a storm The spittoon in the corner of the room needs emptying She feels the weight of outlaws in her midst From here to there the crowd looks innocent But Padre knows better so shoots them all to death To kingdom come and back again through the chest Through time corridors we suspect they must be dust Mary Six Pack says a prayer and drinks some holy water From a whiskey bottle in another time dimension soaking wet Then returns from there to here less sober and less blessed Charged with a misdemeanor for impersonating a monsignor