| I’m a pistol packing papa
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| And when I walk down the street
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| You can hear those mamas shoutin'
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| Don’t turn your gun on me!
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| Now girls, I’m just a good guy
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| And I’m goin' to have my fun
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| And if you don’t wanna smell my smoke
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| Don’t monkey with my gun!
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| Like a hobo when he’s hungry
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| Like a drunk man when he’s full
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| I’m a pistol packing papa
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| I know how to shoot the bull
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| The hold-up men all know me
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| And they sure leave me be
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| I’m a pistol packin' papa
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| And I ramble where I please
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| When I have that funny feeling
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| That lorryin' ramblers call
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| I swing aboard some freight train
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| And I shoot my pistol off
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| Sometimes one shot will do me
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| Sometimes takes four or five
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| Sometimes I shoot all around
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| Before I’m satisfied
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| When you hear my pistol poppin'
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| You better hide yourself some place
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| Cause I ain’t made it for stoppin'
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| And I come from a shootin' race
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| My sweetheart understands me
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| She says I am her big shot
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| I’m her pistol packin' daddy
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| And I know I’ve got the drop
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| You can hear my new sport roadster
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| You can take my hard-boil head
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| But you can’t never take from me
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| My silver-mounted gad
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| I’m a pistol packin papa
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| I’m goin' to have my fun
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| Just fallow me and you will hear
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| The bangin' of my gun |