Hanging Up The Holster

Spic and span,

clean as a whistle.

I’m a quick draw with my pistol,

a real straight shooter, I am.

Fully loaded, fully equipped,

I pack a punch, if you get my drift.

Pumping like a well oiled machine,

there’s a load in my magazine.

When I aim, I don’t even have to try,

dead center, it’s a bulls-eye.

I can hit the mark,

like a ball, right out of the park.

I’m a sure shot,

toss a coin, hit it on the spot.

If you’re a damsel in distress,

I’m at you’re service, I got what you need.

I’ll deliver the goods, I aim to impress,

your satisfaction is guaranteed.

My homes been on the range,

but I’m looking for a change;

time to hang up the holster.

Kick the boots off to the floor,

get them off, get it on, and go for more.

I feel the heat, it’s starting to smolder,

admiring someone so fine,

I’m retiring just on time.



© 2015  Kathleen Stefani and Combing The Catacombs
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