THE SYNTAX KID
1
He rode into town today,
CAPITAL punishment on his mind,
Dismounted where his horse had shit,
Because he was sort-of-blind
Well it was only that one eye was shut,
And through the other he could not see,
So his aim was just a trifle off,
When he chose to fire at me.
BANG, BANG!! His guns spat out red flame,
And clouds of smoke and stuff,
That turned out to be a bloody shame,
For it was not straight enough.
His horse lay in a pool of blood,
And that was pretty tough.
2
Me I hadn't even drawn,
As I stood there stuck in shock,
The crowd had gathered like a swarm,
And some had run amok.
“It wasn't him, cause Hell, he's blind,
HE couldn't shoot his horse,”
So who do you think they turned to blame,
Well ME of bloody course.
I was asked to leave that little town,
In no uncertain terms,
So off I went with that same old frown,
Because this kid never learns.
But I was soon invited back,
and as always the kid returns.
3
Now I stand in the center of the street,
(I threw my guns away,)
But I am ready here to meet,
Who ever comes my way.
I don't see that blind man’s horse around,
But I notice all the stains,
Where all the blood oozed to the ground,
Where some of it remains.
I have my lower cases primed,
And my Upper cases to,
For some folk tend to be inclined,
To toss a Capital F at you.
But it seems the streets have settled down,
Until the next exciting blue
4
Dick, whose head is strangely shaped,
Like a light bulb with a crack,
In his normal fashion rudely gaped,
And of course I gaped right back.
He stood there flogging the blind man’s horse,
Which, of course, couldn't feel a thing,
And I said old mate, I don't endorse,
Flogging a bell that will not ring,
Especially the hide of a horse that died,
Because it's master spat the dummy,
Assuming that his target lied,
Which was rather bloody funny.
Cause he replied, “Hey, wait a sec,
Can't you see I'm made of honey!”
5
That of course was me; indeed!
I am so sweet and pure you know.
Tis only sugar on which I feed,
And it's a very straight furrow I hoe.
But sometimes the perfect Angelic types,
The ones with tickets and pout,
(That don't leave much when they fall off,
That one can talk about.)
Steel my thunder with their conceit,
That would make a Banana peel,
For I can't with such things compete,
As my actions do reveal.
And I must remain to myself true,
Cause that is the sworn to deal.
6
Now because the stains are in the dirt,
The late arrivals select their hats,
And into the blood their aromas squirt,
To choose who bowls or bats.
None know a thing about the game,
But they like to blow of steam,
And some are feeble and quite lame,
And some are strong and lean
Soon enough the streets are filled,
With bullets flying wide,
That horses everywhere are killed,
Because us braver folk, we hide!!
Then suddenly the Sheriff rides in,
Dismounts in a single stride
7
“Hey how come you blokes think today,
Was a couple of days ago?
You are wearing all the past away,
By reviving it you know.
There ain't no crooks here wearing masks,
They ain't got their guns strapped down,
Why don't you do what the Sheriff asks,
And bring peace back to this town?”
So they all agreed as they mopped up the blood,
Of the horses they had flogged,
And erased all the files that they could
That they had wrongly logged
And the City streets are calm again,
But far from being clogged.
Ó 18 March 04 Colin F Jones
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
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