Monday, September 23, 2013


I wandered into a bar.
Chief Sitting Bull was on a stool.
I asked for a beer, a pint jar,
and being laid back and cool
paid no heed to his talking crap.
It went in one ear, out the other.
I'd no time for his personal attack,
the guy was no peace-pipe lover.
"Think you're Clint Eastwood don't you?
Standing so tall and so calm.
Well let me declare my view,
a rusty-nail has got more charm."
At that walked in Geronimo,
a guy who really likes to scrap.
When chief Sitting Bull had a go
by turning round to him with his crap,
Geronimo was quickly in there.
The beer and the bar-food flew.
Knocked over were the tables and chairs.
He gave little-big horn a right set to.
I took a handful of peanuts
that had not gone flying.
The pair were after blood and guts
and there's plenty of harm in trying.
But the cops had been called
and so came the cavalry.
The two warriors were outside hauled
while I looked on in my tranquility.
I'm glad I didn't have a go,
just left it to wild Geronimo.

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