A hush fell over the bar-room
With the setting of the sun
A tall dark figure wandered in
He was just another gun
His pistol was a Berretta
His coat was rhinestone lined
He hadn't seen the outside
In a hell of a time
His eyes always seemed to sparkle
His glass was ever full
And when he crossed the bar-room
The night was never dull
In a room full of ancient shooters
He stood out by a mile
Never one to leave his gun
That just wasn't his style
