The Man With the Iron Fists (Part 2)


John Wayne / Gail Russell
Image by twm1340 via Flickr

The outlaws
sent for their friends,

Instead of
two or three,

What an advantage
there’d be,

The cards
would really be stacked with ten,

 

Grace didn’t
have long to build her nest,

The word was
already out,

The outlaws
were out and about,

Ready to claim
this part of the west,

 

She tried to
stop him, she wanted to insist,

She knew
they were coming back,

The town
they would attack,

But they
really wanted the man with the iron fists,

 

He would be
outgunned and outmanned,

But he was rough
and tough,

And definitely
brave enough,

Why he was
alone Grace still didn’t understand,

 

No help was
offered from the men of the town,

They boarded
up their stores,

Went home
and locked their doors,

Those brave
men just didn’t want to be around,

 

Their cooperation
was definitely not the best,

But one
thing they did do,

Afraid of
what might ensue,

They pinned
a marshal’s badge upon his chest,

 

“Uh, sir,” I
asked, couldn’t I help a lot?”

“Nope,” he
answered with a frown,

“I don’t
want you in this town,

It’s gonna
get dangerous after the first shot,”

 

I didn’t
tell him that I had talked to Grace,

We didn’t
want to hurt his pride,

With him we
just didn’t confide,

Because up our
sleeves we each held an ace,

 

Now I might
not quite be a man,

But I can
shoot a rabbit,

At fifty
yards it’s now a habit,

So holding
my own with a rifle, I can,

 

Now I’m not going
to brag about my skills,

Because I’m
not the best,

In this
whole wide west,

It’s my aunt
who provides the shooting thrills,

 

She’d go
hunting when we needed to eat,

Always got
something on her first try,

Always
claimed, “Shot in the eye,”

Because she
never wanted to waste good meat,

 

Since she
was considered just a pretty girl,

There was no
need to claim,

She was “Annie
Oakley” of the plain,

And have the
men’s mustaches all atwirl,

 

“Uh, Grace,
do you want me to drive them to you?”

She nodded,
which explained a lot,

She was, of
course, the best shot,

She could take
care of the whole stinkin’ crew,

 

There was
one problem, she was careful to insist,

“Be as
careful as you can,

Just don’t
hit my man,

Shoot the others
but not the man with the iron fists,”

 

In the
middle of the day he walked out in the heat,

As brave as
brave can be,

What
appeared for anyone to see,

Was one
cowboy challenging death upon the street,

 

Those cowardly
ten were silently slipping around,

Finding
vantage places,

Where they
could hide their faces,

And still have
a good view of the town,

 

What those
ornery varmints didn’t comprehend,

Two pairs of
eyes were ready,

As we held
our rifles steady,

Their way of
life was coming to an end,

 

The man with
the notches on his gun,

Wanted to
show he was brave,

He began to
rant and rave,

Knowing his
back was to the sun,

 

Grace could
see the man’s devious plan,

Her husband
would be surprised,

With the sun
in his eyes,

He’d never
see the gun in the second man’s hand,

 

Mister notches
on his gun danced around with glee,

When he
heard a rifle shot,

But he didn’t
dance a lot,

Before the
man with the iron fists fired three,

 

To keep the
record straight so everybody knows,

Grace shot
the first bushwhacker,

And I shot
another attacker,

Three down
and seven bad guys to go,

 

Now in all
the confusion the man with the scar,

Had stepped
out of the alley,

And tried to
get his men to rally,

He saw my movement but I didn’t miss him by
far,

 

Four
scoundrels at the marshal directly raced,

Some of his
shots went astray,

But it didn’t
matter anyway,

For the
rifle firing behind him belonged to Grace,

 

Three more
scalawags were still looking for trouble,

I was hidden
the best I could be,

I looked up
to see three rifles pointed at me,

“Hey,
Marshal, I don’t want to burst your bubble,”

 

“But I think
it’s time to drop your gun,

This could
be the end,

Of your
little friend,

The battle’s
over, this time I’ve won!”

 

The marshal
started over, two rifles aimed at his chest,

He glared at
me and said, “I told you one time,

To stay away
and you took my dime,”

“And you
other three are under arrest!”

 

The man with
the scar started to grin,

“I’ve got
the gun,

There’s no place
for you to run,

Why don’t
you just give in?”

 

Three shots
rang out and dropped the outlaws cold,

“You didn’t
have to shoot,

These ornery
galoots,

I think I
had everything under control,”

 

Now the
marshal’s fame spread throughout the land,

Iron Fists
became a fearsome name,

As the west
he gradually began to tame,

But there’s
one thing I want you to understand,

 

He was not
completely happy with Aunt Grace,

Although without
her he might be dead,

She should
have stayed home instead,

As he said, “A
woman should know her place,”

 

“Uh, yes,
Grace, I’ll tell everyone the story the best I can,

Uh, yes ma’am,
if you insist,

The credit
will all go to Iron Fists,

I’ll never
say that it was the woman behind the man,”

 

He’s my
uncle and I’m as proud as I can be,

He sits high
upon his horse,

Such a manly
image of course,

And as brave
a man as you’ll ever see,

 

Somewhere
out west a story still exists,

Of a marshal
rough and tough,

But with the
schoolmarm gentle enough,

That’s the
legend of the Man With the Iron Fists.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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dineandrhymeblog.com/

a blog that combines food & poetry mixed with vlogging

Site Title

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou

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If you want to be a hero well just follow me

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