Fasten your seat belt, I'll tell you a story
About a lost soul in the morning glory
He's not very famous but fond of cars
Which are expensive and take him far
Away as people would say from home
That's when he feels that he's all alone
In the world with noone he can talk to
Playing cards in a saloon in Gütersloh
I'm a cowboy, my pick up is my horse
I'm riding through the town, feeling worse and worse
I'm a long lost hero on the road to Bielefeld
But noone seems to know how this is spelt
Well, look at his pants, jeansy and blue
He's wearing a gun but ain't got a clue
What it feels like to shoot people down
Will he ever try or will he just frown
On the times when country was a thrill
And he was in Germany not in Knoxville
He could be a legend but he's just a loser
When he was young he looked even smoother
I'm a cowboy, my pick up is my horse
I'm riding through the town, feeling worse and worse
I'm a long lost hero on the road to Bielefeld
But noone seems to know how this is spelt
The cigarette got lost in its smoke
While he barely tries to tell a bad joke
He reaches the punch line and suddenly stumbles
His thoughts get lost all in a tumble
His life is extreme in a booby hatch
For him it is only a sparring match
He's trying to get rid of the country junk
If he can make it he'll be a punk.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Lars Schmitt.
Published on e-Stories.org on 02.08.2011.
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