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Текст (слова) песни: John Wesley Harding - Scared of Guns
Well, the power of the bullet is fascinating
Theyre polishing the luga facsimiles
The little kids grow up imitating
Cowboys shoot indians before puberty
Dont get me to the battle on time
Id be useless in the front line
Dont point that thing at me
You know Im scared of guns
You can argue, say its harmless
In the nightmare fairground gallery
Were all under pain of death
To keel right over gracefully
I ached to be a uniform man
And toss that baton in a marching band
Dont point that thing at me
You know Im scared of guns
Im scared of guns, theyre out of your hands
Im scared of guns, they might go bang
Im scared of guns, hey joe, theyre out of control
Im scared of guns, fear eat the soul
Dont shoot me
I wanna put flowers in the barrels
Like the famous photo, understand
That Id rather get hit on the head
That hold cold metal in my hand
The new arrival, the latest addition
The little boys running out of ammunition
Dont point that thing at me
You know Im scared of guns
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