The Shooter!
¶ 1
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The shooter ties his hoss up
Tips his hat to ward off sun
Slips out of the saddle
Checks ivory handled guns
His spurs echo on the side walk
As he walks to the saloon
An air of expectation’s rife
He’ll be in there quite soon
People dive for cover
They know why he’s here
He walks up to the counter
Orders up a beer
He stands with bandy legs apart
A pristine clean white shirt
His nickname is Der Bomber
His team-mates call him Gert!
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