Six Shooter Saloon

Welcome to the Six Shooter Saloon, Where the crowd gets rowdy by noon. Dust in the air, the floorboards creak, Laughter rolls loud, whiskey flows cheap. Far from the laws of any big town, The rules are loose, cards go down. Horses tied in the muddy street, Inside, trouble and good times meet. The piano man pounds with a preacher’s hands, Girls dance bold, skirts swirl like fans. Brothel lights hum in a backroom glow, A wink, a nod... everyone knows. Saloon doors swing as boots stomp in time, Drinks are poured as the spittoons' chime. But then the church bell tolls, And the heat turns cold. It’s high noon… When the tension blooms. A bounty hunter rides through town, Pancho low, Hat pulled down. Drawin’ irons, he scans the crowd, Looking to collect… Or lay someone down. An undertaker leans on a pinewood crate, Measuring slow for whoever’s late. Twenty paces, boots in the dust, Eyes locked tight, no words, just trust. A hand twitches, the piano strikes, Lead flies fast like rattlesnakes bite. Chairs tip back, the glasses fall, Six Shooter shakes as gunshots call. Smoke clears slow, the hunter stands, Spins his iron, holsters with one hand. Tips his hat, nods to the room, The Six Shooter survives… until next noon...