Lyrics The Last Gunfighter Ballad (Live) - Guy Clark

Now the old gunfighter on the porch stared into the sun
And relived the days of livin' by the gun
When deadly games of pride were played
And livin' was mistakes not made

And oh, the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke
Oh, the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

And I can almost feel the weight of the gun
And it's always keep your back to the sun
And it's faster than snakes or the blink of an eye
And it's a time for all slow men to die
And his eyes get squinty and his fingers twitch
And he empties his gun at that son of a bitch

And he's hit by the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke
Oh, hit by the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Now the burn of a bullet is only a scar
He's back in his chair in front of the bar
And the streets are empty and the blood's all dried
And the dead are dust and the whiskey's inside
So buy him a drink and lend him an ear
He's nobody's fool and the only one here

That remembers the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke
Oh, remember the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

He said, "I stood in that street before it was paved"
Learned shoot or be shot before I could shave
And I did it all for the money and fame
And noble was nothing but feeling no shame
And nothing was sacred 'cept stayin' alive
And all that I learned from a Colt 45

Was to curse the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke
Oh, curse the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Now he's just an old man and no one believes
He says he's a gunfighter and the last of the breed
But there's ghosts in the street and they seeking revenge
And they callin' him out to the lunatic fringe
Now he's out in the traffic, he's checkin' the sun
And he's killed by a car as he goes for his gun

So much for the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke
So much for the smell of the black powder smoke
And the stand in the street at the turn of a joke

Here's a little song that made in west in the late 1800
And a song about my family actually