Now, the gunfighter came to this new little town,
where the town was starting to boom.
Tried to find him a place to bed for the night,
but, instead got drunk at the saloon.

His judgment, impaired by the number of shots
that the barkeeper kept serving up.
The gunfighter, no slouch when drinking the gin,
had been sure to finish each drop.

So, now, lightheaded and walking the town
the gunfighter, slower to the draw
was challenged by several men this night
that just wanted to see him fall.

But nevertheless, he had enough wits
to make sure he’d not be shot down.
When ‘Ole Deke Smith called him out,
it was Deke that was buried in town.

The gunfighter had a following of sorts
of those that wished to be best.
So, they continued to ride and call him out
and put his reputation to the test.

Though tiring of the challenges and weary of the gun,
the gunfighter still needed to defend.
They kept on coming, one by one.
Challenges, he wished that would end.

So now the gunfighter turns to the cross.
From his holster, a rosary would hang.
He would gladly sacrifice his days of the gun
and give up the sound of the bang.

He knows that he had committed the sins
that made him turn to the Lord.
Dropping the gun, now of all days,
was a lesson he couldn’t afford.

“Just one more time”, he thought to himself,
“Maybe the next will do me in”
Alas, the poor gunfighter lives on and on.
His greatest battle is one he won’t win.