A man had a gun for a mouth,
and it was hard for him to see the safety,
his tongue only made things go south,
he could not reach,

He didn't have many friends,
those he did wore kevlar,
None would wait, in the end,
and he dug his own grave,

He worked alone for good reason,
his situation made teamwork unbearable,
he hunted when it was in season,
his mouth, the only thing needed,

He could score a date quite well,
women flocked to his sight,
"What a barrel!", his looks could sell,
conversation was never alright,

His wife was a shield, a maiden of honor,
they worked quite well, nail to hammer,
where she was his mouth, he was her bomber,
ready to strike at the first threat,

His child, the only love in his head,
at birth so strong,
his son had arms of lead,

What carries on is molded by the past,
the fruit grows and ripens,
Until it meets it's last
moment here and the gun gets dim,
God is the creator, but death always wins