UNTIL THE LAST DROP
It seems fitting, in this wicked day and age,
to add even more sins to my journal - a scribbled, and tattered written page.
Time is running out, and my friends have all pissed off;
now all they can do is stand and stare - and most of 'em even scoff.
Bullets used to fly, and flea shit used to die,
a deserving end to any cause.
I killed a man once, 'cos his nose rang too loud,
and I hated the fat bastard's snores.
A turd, I have been, handsome, fast, and downright bloody mean,
waiting in line for my pine box.
Knowing my luck, and not giving a flying fu*k,
I'll end up with sores, and the unsightly pox.
'High Noon', they say, is the best time of day,
to meet thy Maker, whilst married to a Quaker,
and to meet danger, head on.
Personally, I prefer early sunrise, when the sun's in their eyes,
and I shoot them plum centre, right between their quivering thighs.
I don't know about you, but I wouldn't try,
to sixty-nine a cheap whore.
The best you can do, with a case of the 'flu',
and a case of hard dick,
is to talk about your many killings,
and really get on her tit.
Time for another whiskey, one which is good, strong, and gold.
The I'll look for another whore,
the cheapest in store,
to fondle, grip, kiss, and hold.
Looks like the last drop of life has gone,
from my gun, my bottle, and my blood.
My head's hurting now, must have been that last cow,
the one with the cross-eyed stare,
and the nose that looked like crud.
One last bullet needs to find one last heart,
but failing that - a well-aimed fart.
I will go out in style, minus the dust, sick, and bile,
determined to shoot his very last pile.
Here comes a guy, poncho, cigar, and all....
if I play my cards right, he'll be heading for a fall.
"Hey turd breath!", I yell to him , as I eye the saloon quim.
His gun has been drawn, before I can reach,
he's a quick bastard - a mean sonovabitch...
his pistol was drawn fast, as if at a whim.
I heard the shot, and smelled the blood,
but the blood wasn't coming from the hole that it should.
It was my hole, and it shouldn't have been bleeding,
I suspect it's a Doc, that I'll now be needing.
It was coming from my heart, beating, still warm,
as I saw the sunrise for the last time,
and said welcome, to the dawn.
I got it in the heart, he was as quick as a cat,
straight in, like an arrow, well-aimed....the twat!
The last drop is almost gone, and the undertaker is near,
by the smell of Cologne, I can tell he is queer.
"Adios, amigo, I struggle to say....,
as he takes my measurements, to see me on my way.
Shit! I'm almost gone...never knew it could be like this,
lying dying on a floor, covered in sick, spunk, spit and piss.
Adios, turds", I want to shout,
while I jangle my last spur.
Then I yell, and I cry, that I don't want to die,
and then Amen it with an urghhhhhh!!!!
Try as I might, not to give up the fight,
the last drop falls, and so beckons the night....