To-revolver; hand-gun, revloving cylinder,
Kind of hard, I must say,
To re-windr, not so easy, the view-finder,
To-pistol; hand-gun, with chamber, any color,
but amber, integral with the barrel,
I've seen the holes, from hundred rifles,
Revolver, with no safety button; pistol, has one,
to keep you safe, top to moron,
Now! The big question, to be resolve,
one murky decision, something like,
Roses in winter!
Well folks; To-revolver, to-pistol,
I made-up my mind,
now that is clear-crystal...And-
an advice from my son; dad!
buy a shot-gun!...Wise advice!
like father, like Bond...James!
for you this song.
By: Juli Monat
Copyright (c) 2013
© Copyright 2016 Juli Monat. All rights reserved.
Essay / Humor
Poem / Poetry
Script / Horror
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