[Verse 1] Saturday morning, sun barely in the sky, Me and the boys rolled out with ammo stacked high. Set up the targets, cracked a couple jokes, And Mike showed up braggin’ like he’s Annie Oak’… But first shot rings out, dirt kicks in a puff, And he squints real hard like the gun’s done somethin’ rough. [Chorus] He said, “My iron sights must be off, ’Cause I’m hittin’ low and left nonstop.” We all started grinnin’ ’cause the truth was clear— Ain’t the gun, buddy… it’s the pilot steerin’ here. Yeah, you can blame that pistol ’til you’re out of breath, But everybody knows why you’re low and left. [Verse 2] We tried not to laugh, we really did our best, But shot after shot kept landin’ southwest of the rest. He tapped the slide twice like it owed him an apology, Said, “Something’s wrong, boys, this ain’t how it’s supposed to be.” But when Shaun picked it up, hit bullseye on the first turn, Mike’s face dropped faster than his rounds ever were. [Chorus] He said, “My iron sights must be off, ’Cause I’m hittin’ low and left nonstop.” But Shaun lit up center like a Fourth of July, Proved the poor gun wasn’t guilty of a single lie. Yeah, you can blame that pistol ’til you’re out of breath, But everybody knows why you’re low and left. [Bridge] We gave him pointers, tried to keep it kind, But the jokes were loadin’ faster than the mags we lined. “Ease your grip, don’t yank the trigger,” “Mike, the problem ain’t the sights, it’s that twitch in your finger.” He rolled his eyes and said we all were wrong, But we caught him later at home watching aim tutorials on his phone. [Final Chorus] Still says, “My iron sights must be off, One of y’all bumped ’em, now my shots all drop.” But every time we hear it, we just can’t resist— Laughin’ ’til we’re breathless at excuses like this. Yeah, buddy, keep tellin’ that tale with all your might— But low and left ain’t the gun… it’s the guy behind the sight. [Outro] Low and left… Ain’t the sights, Mike— It’s you, buddy.
