Old western movies, endearing though predictable -- ah, if all of life were so.
Old Westerns: Antique, Steadfast Justice.
Western movies are pure and simple
With bad men scarred and heroes dimpled.
The hero's known by his white Stetson,
A flashing gun, the horse he gets on,
And the lovely girl he loves and frets on.
While in saloons, way in the back,
Cads swill whiskey, wear all black,
Cheat at cards and make wisecracks.
The town's not big enough for them both,
And Sheriff knows he's sworn an oath
To curb, as Lawman, evil's growth.
When Good slays Bad, no blood is shed,
In black-and-white, you can't see red,
As gun smoke fades, Black Bart is dead.
The end, some say, is kind of hokey,
with bad guys killed or in the pokey.
The town's all safe and okey-dokey.
These days, when we are in a pickle,
With problems grave and inextricable,
Just call a hero brave, though mythical,
To stop the bad guys, so despicable.
Ah! Life is good, though quite predictable.