Back in those days of Brylcreem and chrome
and linebackers breaking bones,
and Gordon's doubles to wash away
the troubles of the day,
lead was in the cheerful pink paint
on baby's bedroom walls and toys,
and the infinite blue skies were full of the sweet stink
of premium fortified with tetraethyl lead
and Marshall Dillon outdrew the bad guys
hit 'em with his .45 right between the eyes
in Dodge City, Kansas alias Melody Ranch,
just north of Los Angeles where it was always noon,
then downed a shot of rot gut
at Miss Kitty's Long Branch Saloon.
(a CBS soundstage down
Highway 99 in Studio City.)
Meanwhile, in a tiny Hollywood shop,
on Santa Monica Boulevard
Eugene Stoner and his assistants,
Jim Sullivan and Bob Fremont
crafted the embryonic Armalite AR-15.
The requirement was a weapon
that could pierce a steel helmet
at 500 yards. The Army didn't like it
but the Air Force did, especially Curtis-
bomb-em-back-to-the-stone-age-LeMay.
Marshall Dillon, Hoss and Paladin,
Rowdy Yates and Maverick
kept the small screen blazing
with their six-shooter Colts
and we all gathered round
the blue glow in the living room
as they faced off out in front
of the saloon and Miss Kitty
waited patiently, and the poker players
watched from the wooden sidewalks
and we all knew how it would end
because the good guys always got the drop.
And the bad guys were bank robbers
and rustlers, not wife beaters and fanatics.
You could tell 'em by their hats.
