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)