Open Season
My name's Jesse
Here's my Smith & Wesson
I killed one man today already
And I might make it two
His name's Bobby
Now give him all your money
Take it easy honey
And we might not kill you
I'm from clay county
You might've heard about it
Them little dixie chickens
And the meanest men you know
We fought for vengeance
We fought for religion
We fought just because
We had punches to throw
My pa died when I was three
Since then no man's laid a hand on me
I've got two revolvers hanging at my sides
I've got 12 different ways, man
For you to die
You see a man like me
He don't work in the weeds
He just takes what he needs
And hits the trail
I've got rangers behind me
Who think that they can find me
And if they do
I'll just send 'em all to hell
It's open season on my head
This open range where I laid my bed
Is a whole lot safer than the walls in town
With my picture hanging on 'em
And them rumors flying around
Now they're clearing out the hollers
For ten thousand dollars
The Pinkerton boys ain't like the work that I did
So they're rooting up the maples
And burning down the stables
But I'm just at home with my wife and kids
But I'm running out of lessons
To learn of my transgressions
I'm running out of men that I can trust
The only two left
They been with me every step
The brothers ford
Bobby and Chuck
It's open season on my head
This open range where I make my bed
Is a whole lot safer than the walls in town
With my picture hanging on 'em
And them rumors flying around
Well I guess that reward
Was the work of the lord
'Cause it grew too high for Bobby to climb
And one summer night
As I stooped to stoked the fire
My best friend Bobby went and shot me from behind
So somebody tell my little boys
That they ain't got no choice
Please, make em stay on a righteous path
'Cause it sure was fun living slinging guns
But you might die young
Yea you might die young
Well you might die young
From a shot to your back
To your back
Here's my Smith & Wesson
I killed one man today already
And I might make it two
His name's Bobby
Now give him all your money
Take it easy honey
And we might not kill you
I'm from clay county
You might've heard about it
Them little dixie chickens
And the meanest men you know
We fought for vengeance
We fought for religion
We fought just because
We had punches to throw
My pa died when I was three
Since then no man's laid a hand on me
I've got two revolvers hanging at my sides
I've got 12 different ways, man
For you to die
You see a man like me
He don't work in the weeds
He just takes what he needs
And hits the trail
I've got rangers behind me
Who think that they can find me
And if they do
I'll just send 'em all to hell
It's open season on my head
This open range where I laid my bed
Is a whole lot safer than the walls in town
With my picture hanging on 'em
And them rumors flying around
Now they're clearing out the hollers
For ten thousand dollars
The Pinkerton boys ain't like the work that I did
So they're rooting up the maples
And burning down the stables
But I'm just at home with my wife and kids
But I'm running out of lessons
To learn of my transgressions
I'm running out of men that I can trust
The only two left
They been with me every step
The brothers ford
Bobby and Chuck
It's open season on my head
This open range where I make my bed
Is a whole lot safer than the walls in town
With my picture hanging on 'em
And them rumors flying around
Well I guess that reward
Was the work of the lord
'Cause it grew too high for Bobby to climb
And one summer night
As I stooped to stoked the fire
My best friend Bobby went and shot me from behind
So somebody tell my little boys
That they ain't got no choice
Please, make em stay on a righteous path
'Cause it sure was fun living slinging guns
But you might die young
Yea you might die young
Well you might die young
From a shot to your back
To your back
Credits
Writer(s): Brian Revels
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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