I rode into town on Sunday and walked into the saloon,

“I’d like a drink.” And made a clink, whilst placing my doubloon.

The barkeep cleaning glasses with a dusty little cloth,

Just gave a nod, then off he trod, to fetch one from the trough.

I looked around the beer hall to take in my surrounds,

And then my eyes, to my surprise, couldn’t believe what they’d found.

The one named Murderous Molly, playing card games with her crew,

A stroke of luck, this sitting duck, seemed too good to be true.

She caught my gaze and gave her friends a gentle little poke,

They turned my way, to my dismay, my advantage had been broke.

My finger hovered with intent, just above my gun,

As they arose, a fearful pose, faces wiped of all the fun.

I pulled out my six shooter and fired with intent,

And in a flash, six bangs - a crash, and down Miss Molly went,

Her unarmed friends just raised their hands now splattered shades of red,

Then I heard a click, my stomach sick, something pressed against my head.

“Any last words, Sheriff?” Asked a voice I knew too well,

Stu the Stump, had got the jump, to send me down to hell.

But before the one-armed man could pull the trigger on his piece,

Through the doors, my Sunday roared, baring her sharp teeth.

The chaos that ensued all happened in a heartbeat,

A sudden bite, to my delight, turned Stu’s only hand to horse meat.

As Stu writhed in pain upon the floor I didn’t feel remorse,

I drank my cup, I saddled up, and rode off on my horse.