High
noon and the gunslingin' town,
steel spurs clinging on the red dirt ground,
saloon doors swingin' wide open,
it's about to go down.
Outlaws ridin' out of the hills,
shootin' moonshine,
shotgun shells,
a bunch of hellraisers
wanna send you to your maker,
no time to saddle up so you gotta act now and shoot from the
hip,
ask questions later,
shoot from the hip,
come on.
Sometimes the only peacemaker is a hairpin trigger in a fingertip,
you gotta shoot from
the hip,
shoot from the hip.
The dust settles,
the barrels go cold,
and that's deuce is wild at the watering hole,
turns out carbs and hard liquor don't mix too well.
And this joker with an ace up his sleeve,
in a midnight special that nobody can see,
I show him four of a kind,
he gets red in the eye,
he flips the table over,
I reach for
mine and shoot from the hip,
ask questions later,
shoot from the hip,
come on.
Sometimes the only peacemaker is a hairpin trigger in a fingertip,
you gotta shoot from
the hip,
shoot from the hip.
Sometimes the only peacemaker is a hairpin trigger in a fingertip.
You won't find me six feet from death,
you won't find me taking cover,
cause I'm holding the roar of the thunder.
Sometimes
the only peacemaker is a hairpin trigger in a fingertip,
you gotta shoot from
the hip,
shoot from the hip.
Sometimes the only peacemaker is a hairpin trigger in a fingertip,
you gotta shoot from the hip,
shoot from the hip.
Shoot from the hip.
Shoot from the hip.