Paroles de la chanson The Last Gunfighter Ballad par Steve Earle

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Paroles de la chanson The Last Gunfighter Ballad par Steve Earle

The old gunfighter on the porch
Stared into the sun
And relived the days of living by the gun
When deadly games of pride were played

And living was mistakes not made
And the thought of the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Ah, the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

It's always keep your back to the sun
He can almost feel the weight of the gun
And he's faster than snakes or the blink of an eye

And it's a time for all slow men to die
And his eyes get squinty and his fingers twitch
As he empties the gun at the son of a bitch
And he's hit by the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Hit by the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Now the burn of a bullet is only a scar
He's back in his chair in front of the bar
And the streets are empty and the blood's all dried
And the dead are dust and the whiskey's inside
So buy him a drink and lend him an ear
'Cause he's nobody's fool and the only one here
Who remembers the smell of the black powder smoke

And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Remember the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

He said I stood in that street before it was paved
Learned to shoot or be shot before I could shave
And I did it all for the money and fame
Noble was nothing but feeling no shame
And nothing was sacred but stayin' alive
And all that I learned from a Colt 45
Was to curse the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Curse the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

He's just an old man, now, that no one believes
That says he's a gunfighter, the last of the breed
And there are ghosts in the street seeking revenge
Calling him out to the lunatic fringe
Now he's out in the traffic checking the sun
And he's killed by a car as he goes for his gun
So much for the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

So much for the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

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