Cast-iron glances given as I cross the street
Nobody in their right mind at the country bar
'Cept for that backwater gal they call Marguerite
She isn't very loud, but she carries a gashing wide scar
Which I think is kinda pretty if I squint just a bit
And if she gets real drunk she will play the guitar
And maybe if I ask kindly, she'll show me the tit
...
Cast-iron glances given as I head back to the bar
With a handful of cash i walk briskly through the door
Gonna get me a bottle and gaze at Marguerite from afar
From my crotch to my cowboy hat i want to touch that whore
I'm all burnin' up like a flame full of fire on a pool of tar
Emptied my cold beer straight down my open shirt pour
Just can't keep my peepers off that gashing wide scar
...
Cast-iron glances given as I hoot and I hollar
Reaching deep in my pants and i pull out my jimmy
Wrangling that rascal like a straight up cowballer
It races me over yonder to Marguerite with a shimmy
Thank the Lord for my shit-kickers, I'm two heads taller
I showed my darling what i had in my hand and was shot by Timmy
Hit with buck shot in the neck right above my high collar
...
Cast-iron glances given and a mouthfull of laughs
The bartender hovered over me and surely wrote me off
I begged him a pardon as I grabbed a grip at his calfs
He just lit a cigarette, stared, and blew out a cough
The rest is bleeding an' twitching while I'm stared at by staff
I should have left leaving the first time away from this riff and raff
And this poem got all messed up by some dorkus giraffe!