The gunslinger kicked in the old saloon door.
His spurs played a tune as he walked 'cross the floor.
He leaned on the bar and glared back at the crowd.
"Whiskey!", he called in a voice, clear and loud.
He snatched at the bottle and just for the fun,
He spat out the cork and he downed it in one.
"I'm the meanest, the keenest, the baddest, the best.
I'm the deadliest shooter there is in the West."
He shouted out loud in a voice mean and cruel,
"Are all of you chicken? Will none of you duel?!"
Each man in the bar room was silent and still,
For nobody wanted to be his next kill.
Then up stood our hero, a tall Texas Ranger,
"We don't really like your type 'round these parts, stranger."
"We'll settle this score, and we'll settle it soon.
Tomorrow; the OK Corral at high noon."
The next day the fighters met under the clock.
They glared at each other with each tick and tock.
Then the clock it struck midday, the stranger drew first.
He let off a round but he silently cursed.
The bullet went wide and lodged deep in the ground.
Then the ranger took aim and he squeezed off a round.
The thug tried to sidestep and let the round pass,
But the bullet hit home in the cheek of his ass.
He tried to move freely, but oh what a sight!
As he walked with an obvious limp on the right.
He hopped out of town and was never the same.
And that's how the Hopalong Kid got his name.
© Copyright 2016 Baz. All rights reserved.
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