Scattergun - Webb Wilder

Standing tall, he doesn’t flinch, he knows what must be done

But his eyes are weak, his aim is bad, his feet too big to run

If he wants to live to know his lover’s kiss

He can’t afford to miss

In the blinding glare of the burning desert sun

There’s not much a man can do outnumbered six to one

Unless he is the man they call Scattergun

Scattergun

You don’t have to be a good shot

With a scattergun

(Scattergun)

A man who knows his bottle like his woman knows his touch

Who keeps to his own business as he tinkers in his hutch

But if some pack of devils act a fool

Make him lose his cool

They’ll think a dragon has them in its clutches

His scattergun will fill the air with smoke and fire and such

And if you look to see what’s left, you won’t see much

Scattergun

You don’t have to be a good shot

With a scattergun

(Scattergun)