The Quick and the Dead

Baby Kyle was a sheepdog… age 17…
He sniffed out a dog-fight scene…
Vigilante ascent… loaded rifle he went…
To protect private property

He loped into town… and spoke with renown…
To the press who had gathered there…
For the lambs getting hurt… put the ferals on alert…
Said his duty was to guard the square

He’d seen on the video… dog-fight scenes
Played out crystal clear in his head…
The lesson that he takes… two pit-fighters make…
The quick… and the stone cold dead

He joined in the fray… on a fateful summer day…
In the din of the riot sound…
When the heat of the chaos cleared away
Two bodies… they had hit the ground

A babyface pup… in over his head…
Faced the fury of an angry tide…
He learned his lesson well… lived to tell the bloody tale
Now… justice will have to decide

He’ll stand before the judge… and the jury twelve…
Twelve more for the caskets pall
A ton of broken dreams… now a ward of the farm…
Nevermore… to play sheepdog

On the western shore… others do abhor…
The state of a farm divide…
Anti-fascists on the left… vigilantes on the right
No more will the shepherd abide

There’s a feeling i get… starting out a road trip…
The kind where i can barely breathe
I love my hometown and i really get around…
But today… i just can’t wait…