These Streets of Death

For all you who don't know me, Let me introduce myself. I'm long, lean, and downright mean; And no one puts me on a shelf. I was born in Tin Pan Alley, In the back of a greasy spoon. My mother Claire just left me there, Neath the glow of an August Moon. Grew up hard in New York City, But I never quite fit in. So I headed West to do my best, To live a lonely life of sin. I soon made my reputation, On the cold end of a gun. Now steely-eyed and qualified, I'd shoot you just for fun. When I'm walking down your streets, You'd best get outta my way. My itchy trigger and the town's grave digger, Will plant you in the clay. I have only one true weakness, I love the ladies big and small. Under candle light, I can go all night; And for sure outlast you all. Any Sheriff that stands before me, Will be taking his final breath. My sex appeal and cold blue steel, Helps me rule these Streets of Death.