Wounded men at barstools
turn and watch her walk away
they try to play it cool
but their blood spurts to her hips sway

She held them up, cleavage for miles
dressed to the nines in her heels
shot them with her shotgun smiles
and laughs as they bleed and reel

Egos destroyed, she did not sit
just kept on walking by
now they wither bit by bit
as their machismo, slowly dies