*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1981782
Rated: 13+ · Lyrics · Western · #1981782
This is a tale you won’t often hear-a hero whose deeds are unsung. (A Country Music Entry)
The Mick

** Image ID #1981781 Unavailable **

We remember the stories of the Old West;
the tall tales of bad guys and good.
How one man stood tall, a star on his vest,
or another was like Robin Hood.

Well, this is a tale you won't often hear -
a hero whose deeds went unsung.
He faced down desperados, showing no fear,
as the town clock, at high noon, rung.

(Refrain)
They called him The Mick; he was lightning quick
with a story, a drink in his hand.
He'd crossed the great sea with a jug of whiskey
to remind him of home - Ireland.


In a small town, a day's ride from Laredo
he stopped, thinking "this place will suit."
It had three saloons – his jug running low –
and a small house of ill repute.

Soon he was a fixture at Harry's saloon
telling stories of life far away.
Songs from the homeland, he'd joyfully croon.
His love of the isle he'd display.

(Refrain)
They called him The Mick; he was lightning quick
with a story, a drink in his hand.
He'd crossed the great sea with a jug of whiskey
to remind him of home - Ireland.


One fateful day came a gun-slinging man;
claimed he now owned the town, with a wink.
The town folk all panicked; most got up and ran
but Mick wanted to finish his drink.

The stranger came in with a gun and a frown;
told Mick to clear out of the bar.
Mick's gun cleared the holster, shot the man down,
said "I doubted I could walk that far."

(Refrain)
They called him The Mick; he was lightning quick
with a story, a drink in his hand.
He'd crossed the great sea with a jug of whiskey
to remind him of home - Ireland.


Word quickly spread, the gunman was gone
and, for Mick, all the drinks were free.
The story lived on, how he had outdrawn
the man who'd have taken the city.

In time Mick passed away and, to this very day,
they recall how he stood up, so brave.
'Twas the hand God blessed his burial sod
for now shamrocks cover his grave.

(Refrain)
They called him The Mick; he was lightning quick
with a story, a drink in his hand.
He'd crossed the great sea with a jug of whiskey
to remind him of home - Ireland
.



An entry for "Invalid Item
Prompt: Anything Irish!

Thank you for taking time to read my words. I would appreciate it if you took a moment and left a comment. Your reaction, impressions, criticisms, - yes, even praise *Smile* are all equally welcome.
© Copyright 2014 🌓 HuntersMoon (huntersmoon at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password:
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1981782