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I'm a pistol packing papa, and when I walk down the street |
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You can hear those mamas shoutin': Don't turn your gun on me! |
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Now girls, I'm just a good guy, and I'm goin' to have my fun |
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And if you don't wanna smell my smoke, don't monkey with my gun! |
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Like a hobo when he's hungry; like a drunk man when he's full |
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I'm a pistol packing papa, I know how to shoot the bull |
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The hold-up men all know me, and they sure leave me be |
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I'm a pistol packin' papa, and I ramble where I please |
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When I have that funny feeling that lorryin' ramblers call |
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I swing aboard some freight train, and I shoot my pistol off |
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Sometimes one shot will do me, sometimes takes four or five |
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Sometimes I shoot all around, before I'm satisfied |
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When you hear my pistol poppin', you better hide yourself some place |
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'Cause I ain't made it for stoppin', and I come from a shootin' race |
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My sweatheart understands me, she says I am her big shot |
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I'm her pistol packin' daddy, and I know I've got the drop |
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You can hear my new sport roadster, you can take my hard-boil head |
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But you can't never take from me my silver-mounted gad |
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I'm a pistol packin papa, I'm goin' to have my fun |
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Just fallow me and you will hear the bargain of my gun |
