#52 WHISKEY’S BETTER FOR GUN
#52 WHISKEY'S BETTER FOR GUN
(Americana)
"Whiskey’s better for gun,"
"Cold beer after fighting."
"Stay the hell away from rum:"
"That shit's bottled lightning."
Old man gasps when he speaks,
But Razor swears he's the best.
Found him in a dive by the dock
Left ear just lobe and scar -- where's the rest?
Check my watch as he and Razor keep talking,
We need better or I'm walking.
All he's said on how the job's done?
Whiskey's better for gun.
Look around -- see who's watching,
Bartender not looking, talking up some girl.
Old man hunches up, pulls in breath,
Gasping, his only advice unfurls.
"Roll in fast, guns out, pointing,"
"Nerves sparking hot, cling to your plan."
"Things go bad -- it gets ugly and noisy."
"Whiskey steadies heart and hand."
He shuffles off hunched, no more to say,
I look at Razor "Wasted our day."
"I'm not getting boozed up. Is he making fun?"
Whiskey's better for gun?"
Eight steps in -- goes to hell in a snap.
Guard gut-shots Razor -- locks on me like a trap.
Shaking hands -- gun up -- firing as I turn,
Miss the bank guard, hit a little girl.
Ended her life before it began,
Fled the bank, tossed gun, then I ran.
They caught me in an alley later that night,
Lying if I said I put up any fight.
Judge said best place for me,
The tight end of a short rope.
"Where you go next is a small box,"
"Squeeze out the last of your hope."
Twelve years on, world's a small and sour cell,
Every morning mirror, face stitched with shame.
Time drags, warm yard mornings, cold cell nights,
Lawyers keep playing paper games.
At last ready to go where they'll spark me,
Time I didn't listen -- can't be undone
Didn't learn much this life, did learn he was right:
Whiskey's better for gun.