Twas the night before. . .

[Dick Dastardly]

Twas the night before the Fourth of July
all my Bore Snakes are clean and hung out to dry.

My brass is in the tumbler goin' round and round
the match is over, lord how I miss the sound
of Holy Black boomin' and steel goin' down.

The warm cloying fragrence of sulfur in the air
diminishing now, but remembered fair
brings thoughts of next shoot
and hot flaming soot.

Pards well met, and some met again
bring new worth to the meaning of friend.

To heck with this talkin', tho talkin's a hoot
I'm loadin' ammo for my next shoot!

DD-DLoS

[litl rooster]