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There lives a gutsy fellow, Barry,
He’s in the saddle day and night,
He’s gotten lots of debts to carry,
But when he’s asked, “Are you all right?”
He hardly moves his solid jaws,
To grunt, “By far I’m safe and sound.
Because we live without laws,
But on my six-shooter I count!”
His life hasn’t been serene and mellow,
But nonetheless he’s in the pink.
This Barry is a gutsy fellow —
To stay alive, he needs a drink.
He stroke with fondness his true horse,
When his pursuers are about,
“We’re being chased. There are no laws,
And but on thee, bro, I can count!”
You’ve been attacked, your ranch is harried —
Don’t cry about this to Heaven.
The better thing’s to turn to Barry,
He’ll settle with the evil men.
In various traps he often was,
But none has seen him crushed or downed.
Since nonexistent are the laws,
But on this fellow folks can count!
For all his foes he’s tough and scary,
For all his friends his record’s clean.
That’s what he’s like — this gutsy Barry,
Whose soul’s great, whose purse is lean.
He’ll cut a wrangle with no pause,
To check a boor he’s always bound,
“Till our country has the laws,
But on himself one has to count!”
1976.
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