With steel on my fingers,
I smell of death,
Which forever lingers,
like the stench of bad breath.
The law cannot stop me,
for they cant match my speed.
Because I'm a gunslinger,
and its death that they need.
Many have called,
all of them failed.
I live with no conscience,
I'm the closest to hell.
Increasing my bounty,
they increase my pride.
My photos say wanted,
dead or alive.
Unsafe to settle,
forever I ride.
My gun always loaded,
strapped to my thigh.
All I give is death,
widows and strife.
My photos say wanted,
dead or alive.
great job puts me right inot one of those western movies great job!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
OK Billy The Kid.... yes you are so scary.... dont shoot me! ! ! I am shaking in my boots! PYT